Hereditary
by Lucky Duck 24
Summary: A girl with a troubled past and present is presented with a new opportunity when she discovers that her father is Lex Luthor. Will he accept her? Will she accept him once she discovers his secrets? Rewritten from the original. M for language, violence.
1. Parental Control

**Ch. 1: Parental Control**

Alexis Lancaster always seemed to be in trouble. In second grade, she was written off as a problem child because she had a habit of stealing lunch money from the other children. What the teachers didn't know (or didn't bother to ask) was that there was a reason for it. In the days before she became an "accomplished thief," she was forced to sit at the lunch table and watch the other kids enjoy their food. Only, they didn't enjoy it. They complained about the school food or whined about how their mother had only packed one Fruit Roll-Up instead of two. No one paid attention to the hunched-over girl with wild red hair sitting alone at the end of the table. Her roving eyes stole glances of the food that her stomach hungered for, and she would give anything for a piece of the so-called plastic pizza.

It wasn't like she didn't eat. On the contrary, when she got home, she would raid the refrigerator for anything to fill her growling stomach. The man of the house, Nathan, would conveniently forget to give her lunch money every week. She had known ever since she could remember that he wasn't her father. Hours of television filled her head with celluloid images of what a father was supposed to be. Nathan wasn't it. Television told her that love was the most important thing in a person's life, but she couldn't imagine what it was like. She didn't have any pets. Nathan and Mina certainly weren't her parents. There was no one to show her what love was. All she had were hollow replicas of America's perfectly generic family structure. She didn't fit into their mold. Nathan and Mina told her what to do, but there was no soft side to either of them.

There were no family albums. As far as she knew, Nathan and Mina abandoned their families a long time ago. Sometimes, she would study their faces. Nathan had a prominent square jaw, a straight nose with a narrow bridge, and squinty eyes. His dark brown hair was usually cropped short. His eyes were so deeply brown that they were almost black. He had a tall and stocky build. If she needed any proof of the absence of a genetic connection between them, his cleft chin was enough. She didn't have one.

Mina was a different story. She saw a few similarities between herself and her adopted mother. They were both tall and lean. There were too many differences to ignore. Mina's hair was naturally platinum blonde. Underneath her blue contact lenses, her eyes were just as brown as Nathan's. If she were really Mina's child, she would have been named something far trendier than Alexis. Plus, Mina would never ruin her body by getting pregnant. The woman was absolutely repulsed by the idea.

In her fervent voyeurism at lunch time, she watched kids present their money to the lunch woman in return for food. Everyone but her did this. Nathan and Mina were richer than a lot of parents, but she was the only one who didn't get food at lunch. To fix this inequality, she targeted one of the weaker boys and demanded that he give her his money for lunch. He stuttered and stammered in protest, but she remained firm like Nathan did when she was in trouble. She didn't show any weakness. She walked away from the counter beaming brightly with money in hand. That day, she had lunch with the rest of the kids. She didn't pay any mind to the boy who went without; she had gone for more than one day without lunch. A couple of days wouldn't hurt him.

But apparently, she had been wrong. A week later, she came home to Nathan and Mina's angry faces. The image was quite clear in her memory. Mina had been sprawled out on the plush, ivory couch in the living room. Her dress had been beautifully draped over the white in direct contrast. Silken red splashed over the white and resembled the stain of blood. Her French manicured nails were buried in her hair as one hand supported her head in the posture of sheer boredom. False blues looked at her seven-year-old adopted daughter as nonchalantly as if she were considering a used car or a farm animal. Her lips, covered in a glossy stain, turned ever-so-slightly upward into a smirk. She knew something that Alex didn't.

Nathan was dressed impeccably in a suit and tie. As soon as she entered the room, his hands went to his hips in the classic pose that meant that she was in serious trouble. Judging by the tension in his jaw and hands, he was much angrier than she had thought back then. She could see now what she couldn't in the eyes of a child. Warning signs had never occurred to her before. When he spoke, his powerful voice boomed throughout the empty house. There would be no witnesses. No one would see what happened. No one would care. It was what Nathan was relying on. They were going to an important gala that night. She would be left home alone.

"We got a call from your principal today." It was the sentence that every child dreaded to hear, but she couldn't have guessed Nathan's reaction to the seemingly harmless news. "He informed me that you were stealing from the other children."

She opened her mouth to correct him, but the words never came. At that moment, his anger boiled over and surfaced in the form of a smack. It happened so quickly that she didn't understand it at the time. Now, she played it slowly and saw the signals that he was giving off a second before. His nostrils flared, and his whole body tensed. His right arm was drawn back in a blur, and his open palm came forward with immeasurable strength relative to her body size. When his palm hit her face, the momentum pushed her head so violently to the side that she lost her balance and fell backwards. She didn't have time to turn and soften her fall. The impact of the smooth, hard marble jarred her entire body, but it was the thud of her head against the floor and the jolt that shot through her left arm that hurt the worst.

Her life had inexplicably changed. For the first time in her life, she feared for her own safety. Disoriented from the blow, it took her a few seconds to gather enough of her wits to look back up at him in stunned silence with gaping eyes. The first thing they teach children in life is not the alphabet. It's not the number line. They teach them to always trust adults. No matter what, adults are safe. Her illusion of trust was completely shattered in two seconds. She never liked Nathan, but she never had a reason not to trust him. Until he struck her. Her left arm buckled underneath her as soon as she tried putting any weight on it, and the pain only got worse.

"My arm hurts," she attempted to mumble, but the words were unintelligible. She had a disgusting taste in her mouth that she now recognized as blood. She had bitten her tongue on the way down to the floor.

"Be quiet." He wasn't yelling, but this tone of voice was more dangerous than a shout. "You will not embarrass me like this again. I will _not_ have you shame this family."

She would have laughed if her throat wasn't so dry. Back on the floor, all the little girl felt was shock and horror. The thought that he wasn't allowed to hit her never entered her mind. She was the bad one. She stole from another child and made them look bad. She was paying for it. Parents only punished their children when they were bad, and she must have done something really terrible to deserve this. Tears ran down her cheeks as her skin flushed red with guilt. She sniffled as quietly as she could, but the loud congestion brought a reaction out of Mina.

"How disgusting. Pathetic little creature." It was only a glance at Mina's face in the midst of her pain, but it was painted clearly in her mind.

The only way to describe the look in Mina's eyes was unadulterated disdain. It was the complete opposite of the look that a mother would give her daughter when the latter was in pain. There was a slight wrinkle in her button nose, which she had paid thousands of dollars to have, and her eyes were shuttered into small slits. Her artificially plump lips pressed together in irritation.

The child's patience had run out. She turned her brilliant emerald eyes on her guardians and enunciated clearly and loudly this time. "My arm hurts!"

There were at least five beats of heavy, thick silence. Even Mina, who was normally empty-headed, understood the gravity of the situation. She was the one who broke the silence, and her voice was as soft as Alex had ever heard it.

"Nathan, we're already late." Her request was summarily denied by the fact that he paid her no attention. For once, he ignored her in favor of looking at the child they had taken under their wing since her birth.

"You ungrateful little bitch." At that point, she couldn't trust her memory anymore. Her child self had demonized Nathan as he swelled to enormous size before her and grabbed her left arm.

She wailed in pain as he squeezed the swollen area with no mercy. He lifted her small frame into the air and hauled her up the stairs and to her room. Once he opened the door, she was thrown inside. Before she could get to the door, she heard a key turn in the lock. She was locked in for the night.

Her memory of that night was just as clear as her memory of the incident itself. She was trapped in her room for hours. It was a good thing that there was a bathroom attached to her room, otherwise the situation would have been worse. The stare that she gave herself in the mirror shouldn't have ever been in a child's eyes. It was haunting.

She cleaned herself up methodically. A cold, wet hand towel was tied around her mangled arm. It was awkward to manage things with her right arm. Another genetic oddity that proved her foreign origins was that she was left-handed. She brought a cup to her lips and swished water in her mouth until the water she spat into the sink stopped running red. The cold felt good on her arm, but it still throbbed. Her forearm was nearly twice the size of her right one. It turned from bright red to light purple and then from light purple to dark. It was nearly black by the end of the night.

She imagined that her memory of things might be distorted by a child's perception, but perhaps it was accurate. Absentmindedly, Alex held the exact spot where her arm had been broken. It was long healed now, but the ache was still there. It was completely psychological, she knew. The scars on her body healed far more easily than those in her mind. There hatred burned more strongly than any other emotion, because the couple whose charge she had been left in had betrayed her so thoroughly.

Her stomach remembered the hunger pangs throughout the night as she waited for Nathan and Mina to come home. She tried shouting at first for someone to let her out but soon realized that this was hopeless. The maid only came once a week on Mondays. It was Friday night.

Her love of television led her to search for something to pick the lock with, but her hair pins and paper clips didn't seem to work on the impenetrable lock. Working with her miserably inept right hand was tedious, and she threw the useless objects across the room in frustration.

The window had been ruled out early as a possible escape because she was on the second floor of a rather large house, but it looked ever more tempting as the night wore on and as she grew more desperate. Hunger and thirst assaulted her body while the pain in her arm was constantly in her mind. She had nowhere to go. They lived in the suburbs, but the tight-knit community looked increasingly threatening as she thought about it. She would only get herself into more trouble if she tried to escape. Worse still, she could hurt herself further on the way down. She stayed put for the rest of the night.

Nathan and Mina came home at five-thirty in the morning and ignored her distressed cries. As a child, she thought that they didn't hear her. She knew better now. It was two o'clock before Nathan finally unlocked her door and gave her a stern look.

"If you ever do anything like this again, your punishment will be worse than a stay in your room." The words were well-heeded. For a while.

Like any scorned child, she worked to regain her status as something more than a bad seed. She strove for attention from Nathan, any kind of recognition that she was doing well. She maintained good grades, received lunch every day through legal means, and didn't step out of line. The sign of acceptance that she was looking for never came.

At first, she was only mildly discouraged. In sixth grade, Eric Stephenson made fun of her freckles. She held out for a while against his taunts, but she wasn't invulnerable. Weeks went by, and Nathan was still ignoring her. Mina still hated her. Eric still bullied her.

She couldn't remember exactly when it was, though it was undoubtedly recorded in her permanent file somewhere. All she knew was that it had been almost unbearably hot, and Eric's breath suddenly entered her nose. The rank smell made her wrinkle her nose. Her personal space had been invaded. That might have been what set her off.

He called her a shit face. The foul language didn't bother her much, but his next speculation did. He said that when she was born, someone had gone to the bathroom on her face and stained it permanently. Sixth grade boys were supposed to be offensive, but everything seemed to come to a head all at once.

She gripped the pen in her hand like it was her life line. The fury that consumed her was indescribable. She didn't know exactly what brought it on, but she knew that she had the pen in her hand. He called her the name again, only this time, he seemed to separate the two words while he spelled them out an inch in front of her face.

There was a flash of rage, a severance of her control, and suddenly, she drew the pen back. The look on his face was disbelieving, and there was confused humor in his eyes. He never got the chance to laugh.

At the time, she had no plan in her mind of what she was going to do, but her body seemed to take over for her. She stabbed the pen into his cheek with all her might and drew it back again. A squirt of blood sprayed into her face and dotted her lips and porcelain skin. His lips opened to emit a shriek. Before she knew it, her arm did it again. And again. The time interspersed between the first blow and the recess aides pulling her off of Eric seemed to span milliseconds, but it had to have been longer than that. By the time she was done, his face was full of gaping holes that poured blood all over his face.

He wouldn't stop screaming, even when her attack was halted. She felt completely numb, but his screams would haunt her dreams for years to come. The aides were unable to pry the bloody pen from her rigid grip. She was left with the school psychologist while the aides explained the situation to the principal. Nathan was the first one called. They had to have had some kind of arrangement, because the principal was legally obligated to call the injured kid's parents first. She sat in a room separated from the office.

Before she knew it, Mrs. Kane was dabbing a wet cloth on Alex's face to remove the blood. The cold touch was startling. Alex's wide eyes looked up at the woman she had seldom seen before and found pity in her features. Even at eleven years old, she hated being pitied. When the woman reached for the pen, Alex drew it close to her body.

"Okay, I won't take it. But you have to promise me that you won't hurt anyone else." The woman's voice was irritating with its faux soothing quality. Alex begrudgingly nodded.

She didn't want to hurt anyone. It was like some phantom had taken hold of her body and stabbed Eric. She was as pale as a ghost when she heard Nathan's voice some twenty minutes later. It felt like only a moment had passed. There was a glass of water next to her that hadn't been there before.

"Surely we can keep this under wraps, Greg." Nathan's smooth voice was in business mode. He could be persuasive when he wanted to be.

"I can't do anything for you, Nathan. The parents are going to file charges. The boy will be permanently scarred." The principal seemed far more nervous than Nathan was.

"Have they agreed to keep this out of the media?"

"Yes. At least there's that. But it's going on Alex's permanent record. Child services is going to be all over her."

"I can't have that. They can't come into my home and make important people question my reputation."

She didn't even notice Mrs. Kane's attempt to draw her away from overhearing the conversation. She was unnaturally focused.

It was then that the psychologist began to suspect something. The straightness in Alex's spine, her grim features, and a ghost of panic in the child's face tipped her off. That plus the violent situation would have been enough to implicate someone in her household of abuse.

"The situation is out of my hands. I really wish I could help you, but we've never had an incident like this before. Alexis has never been violent."

"I'm surprised, too. I can't imagine where she would get such an idea. She watches far too much television; maybe that's where it came from."

Mrs. Kane visibly bristled. This was the moment that she identified Nathan as the abuser.

Alex paid attention to the psychologist for the first time since Nathan's arrival. She was getting too close to the truth. Trepidation made her skin crawl. What would Nathan do to her if she ever found out? Alex couldn't allow her to know.

The two men finally entered the conference room. Nathan looked worse for the wear. Alex was careful not to meet his gaze and pretended that she was daydreaming. It seemed to work for the time being.

"I'll take her home now. She must have had a trying day." Nathan's false concern appeared sympathetic to those who weren't trained to look past it. Alex knew that her punishment would be far worse than a broken arm and a dislodged tooth this time. The arm had healed in three short weeks, and she had seen a dentist for the tooth that had supposedly fallen out on its own.

Mrs. Kane stood and cleared her throat. "Mr. Lancaster, I'm Mrs. Kane, the school psychologist. I was wondering if I could talk to Alex privately before she goes."

The corner of Nathan's mouth dipped downwards in disdain. "I'm afraid that she's had enough stress for today."

He turned his body towards the hallway, and Alex took that as the sign that she was to follow him. While they exited the office, Alex heard a muttered argument between Mrs. Kane and her principal. She only hoped that the woman would mind her own business.

Alex sat through the drive home in a daze. She stared out the window at the passing scenery, but the trees and houses blended together into one big, meaningless blur. She didn't know anyone in their suburban neighborhood. The residents only knew her as the Lancasters' throwaway child who was always lurking where she wasn't supposed to be. She knew from the condescending way they talked to her that they were just like Nathan and Mina.

Nathan's anger rose as the drive continued, and the tension wasn't released when he pulled the BMW into the driveway. Mina's Mercedes was in the drive. It was strange to see her at home when she was usually out shopping. Had she heard about what had happened? What could be so important that it would pull her away from the high-end shops further into the city?

Nathan seemed puzzled as well. He momentarily ignored Alex as he strode into the house to find Mina distraught. It didn't suit her. She rose from the couch immediately, leaving the glass of wine that was within reach on the table beside the couch, and was ensconced in Nathan's arms.

"He's coming tonight." Her declaration was barely a whisper, and Alex strained to hear it. Mina's moist eyes looked up at Nathan in fear, and then he seemed to remember Alex.

"Go to your room," he ordered. She climbed the stairs as quickly as she could and opened her door. After that, she snuck soundlessly to the edge of the hallway just before the wall opened up to the stairs. She couldn't see them, but she could hear them. "What do you mean?"

"Lex Luthor is coming here tonight at eight o'clock." Lex Luthor? The guy from the commercials? A picture of the suave bald man came unbidden to Alex's mind. Lexcorp was the biggest company in the nation. Maybe he was coming here on business, and they had to impress him.

A moment of pressing silence made Alex tense. Her spine tingled with anxiety, and she was suddenly desperate to move. Now would have been the worst time to make a sound, so she held her body still through sheer force of will. The only sign of her panic was the slight trembling of her legs. "That's not possible," Nathan finally said.

"His associate called me himself to tell me that he was coming. His flight lands at 7:15." Alex's mind wandered. She still grasped the pen in her hand. It was unremarkable, really. Who knew that she could do so much damage with it? "He knows what happened at the school."

At this, her mind was brought fully back to the present. Why would a super-rich businessman be interested in what Alex had done at school? Her imagination supplied her with fanciful, dangerous situations. She was going to be tested on by the government. They were going to put her in jail so she couldn't hurt anyone else, and she would become a political prisoner. She would be recruited for a secret league of assassins.

Nathan's voice grew softer. "We can't give him any inkling that anything's wrong." Even Alex knew that there was something wrong with her. They needed to take the ghost that stabbed Eric out of her. The only problem was that it was a part of her, and it had controlled her as easily as she could tie her shoes. The girl gave an involuntary shudder.

"She _stabbed_ another student. Like a common ethnic child. I know it's a public school, but this kind of brutality is unacceptable." It wasn't unacceptable for Alex to be so disturbed that she stabbed someone. It was unacceptable that Mina's reputation had to suffer for her child being a criminal.

"She's always watching those violent movies. We're not to blame for her behavior. It's not as if we've done anything to her except support her and shelter her." Nathan's self-delusion was an amazing force. Even through the eyes of an eleven-year-old, she could see right through him. The problem was that Lex Luthor would, too. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Nathan and Mina were nervous, so in general, it was a bad thing.

"I knew this was a terrible idea. She's always been off. Now she's turning into a psychopath." Mina sounded a little hysterical. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was familiar. Nathan had slapped Mina.

"We need to be perfect tonight. As much of a burden as the child has been, Luthor's money is the only thing keeping you in designer clothing." She felt dizzy. The information was too much, and it was hitting her all at once.

With no more answers than she had started with, Alex slipped into her room and closed the door quietly behind her.

She fell into a restless sleep for a while, but when the anticipated time neared, she was fully awake. The withdrawn girl gazed out the open window and waited for any sound to alert her to the stranger's arrival. Her window faced the back of the property, but she would still be able to hear the sounds of a car pulling up into the driveway.

It seemed like an eternity. Waiting was only making her more anxious. Her skin prickled, and she tapped her fingers gently on the windowsill. The door to her room was securely locked, so she had taken the liberty of removing the screen from her window. The nearby tree branches would support her weight when she climbed out, but she was still afraid of falling the entire two stories to the ground.

Her heart pounded at the thought. Her breath caught in her throat as she peered down at the grass. She felt her fear of heights grip her stomach with a nauseating wave. She struggled to bring her gaze back up and took a deep breath.

A second after she had regained herself, she saw a flash of headlights come around the side of the house and shine into the trees for a brief moment. The sound of the tires rolling smoothly along the concrete and the light squeal of the brakes reached her hypersensitive ears. The momentary interruption in her heart's fast beat now ended as it fluttered quicker than it had before.

She heard a car door shut, and she knew that the time to get out was now. She didn't want to miss anything. She knew that the kitchen window was open, and that would allow her to at least hear some of their conversation. Her lithe body allowed her to crawl into the window frame. It was a tight fit, but she only needed to stay there temporarily. Her hand reached out for the nearest branch. The thinnest part barely scraped past her outstretched fingers.

The doorbell made her entire body twitch. She held her grip firmly on the window as she started to extend her legs and push her body out the window. Her hand grasped the rough bark that was just thick enough to fit her hand around it and have her fingers touch. She needed to get further than that.

A shaky breath made her pause. Three-fourths of her body was out the window. She had to give up her grip on the window. Slowly and carefully, she shifted her balance so that she could grip the thickest part of the branch. A small pull confirmed that it was strong enough to support her body weight. She took a deep breath and grabbed it with her other hand.

Her change in placement made her stomach churn. All of a sudden, the two stories above ground felt like an insurmountable distance. Her heart seemed to pound right next to her eardrums, and then she took a chance. She swung from the window to the tree. Her left foot scraped nothing but bark. She was afraid she was going to fall for a terrifying moment before her right foot found purchase on the stump of a branch below.

Getting down was easier than getting out of her room. She had to circle the tree a little to find footholds, but she took her time instead of feeling the time crunch. When her feet finally touched solid ground, she ran to the kitchen window. It was about three feet above her height level, and she heard nothing but murmured voices. Her lips twisted into a scowl. She snuck around to the front. The curtains were closed, but the windows were open. She could finally hear what was being said. She crouched down so that she could see through half an inch of the bottom of the screen where the curtains didn't reach.

"—n't raise her to be a violent child. She sneaks around us like a common criminal. Half the time, we don't know what the hell she's up to." Nathan's deep voice was in business-mode again. It might not have been the smartest thing to admit that they were being neglectful, but Nathan painted the picture as if she were the one at fault. Maybe she was. If it was her fault that Nathan and Mina didn't pay attention to her, then what did she do that was so terrible to warrant their neglect?

"You should be watching her more closely." A voice that she didn't recognize almost barked at Nathan. When she adjusted her angle, she could see the speaker's face. He had dirty blonde hair and a goatee that covered the area around his mouth. His lips were drawn tightly together, and his eyes were a cold, icy blue. He wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath. She saw a lump in his jacket near the back of his hip where she imagined a gun would rest in its holster.

"Mr. Garcia has a valid point. Has her behavior changed recently?" She felt a chill run through her blood unbidden. This man was a little shorter than Mr. Garcia but made up for it in stature. His posture was intimidating, and so was his voice. By comparison, Nathan's voice could have been that of a worthless subordinate. He had creamy, pale skin and a completely bald scalp. Next to the color of his skin, his eyes were shockingly green. The color made her think of the jewels embedded in the marble around their pool.

Her next thought had more impact than being punched by Nathan. They were the same color as her eyes when she stared at them in the mirror. Her breath sped up when she noticed that the bridge of his nose was the same as hers, the slightest bit crooked. They didn't have the same lips. His were thinner, and the top one had a scar running through it. The creamy skin that she admired was the same shade as her own. No matter how much she swam in the sun, it never darkened. She was too far away to determine whether he had freckles.

For the first time in her life, she thought, _this might be my father._ This obviously important man dressed impeccably in an all-black suit and a knee-length trench coat might be her biological father. Upon closer inspection, she saw that his eyebrows, nearly invisible against his skin, were reddish in color. She searched for anything to disprove her theory, but she couldn't think straight when she was awestruck.

"No, she's always been like this. Quiet, reserved, but always planning something or another. She won't accept us as her parents, as much as we try to love her." Bullshit. Her present mind contributed the word to her furious eleven-year-old counterpart. Nathan was no hero, but this was the first time that she had seen him blatantly lie about something that was so important to her. It was _she _who had tried to be a good daughter. She was trying. He was ignoring her. Like he always did.

The fury in her heart was all over Mr. Garcia's face. Where his fire burned in his eyes, the bald man remained coolly indifferent. Mr. Garcia said nothing. It was then that she got the sense that Mr. Garcia worked for the bald man, and that was why he didn't state his obvious opinion. She saw his fists clench by his sides in anger.

"I've never been a real father, Mr. Lancaster," the bald man said calmly, "but I know something about child behavior. Deviant behavior stems from the environment. While violent television may have produced the idea of hurting another child, her mind would have lacked a motive." He deliberately paused at that point. She saw Mina shift uncomfortably, but Nathan remained as unchanged as a statue except for the tightening of his jaw.

Mr. Garcia stepped in to relieve the confusion of her young, premature mind. "What Mr. Luthor is saying is that she couldn't have conceptualized severe abuse without experiencing it herself." The bald man was Mr. Luthor. She didn't recognize him from the commercials at first, but now she could see the resemblance. He looked younger in person.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "You're implying that I _abused_ her?" Nathan's incredulous voice sickened her. Several things were realized at that point. Mr. Luthor and Mr. Garcia were on the right track. Nathan's hitting her was considered abuse. It was his fault that she had this demon inside of her. Nathan was a monster, and he might get away with it. Mr. Luthor's steely gaze was met with a scoff. "I've taken her in and raised her as if she were my own. You come around once in her life, unaware of the situation, and decide that I'm not doing my job right?" She shrank back from the window as much as she could while still being able to see. Morbid curiosity kept her there. The edge in Nathan's voice was dangerous, she knew. It was a risk to speak that way to the man who was so blatantly in charge.

"_Nathan_," Mina quietly admonished. Translation: shut the hell up. Alex stared wide-eyed at the scene and wondered if there would be a fight between the two men. Would Nathan break Mr. Luthor's arm like he broke hers? She reminded herself that if she was right about the gun behind Ted's jacket, he would never get the chance. Silently, she was glad that she had someone out there looking out for her, and she only wanted to return the favor. It was an unfortunate fact that she could do absolutely nothing.

Mr. Luthor's voice was the most powerful force she had ever heard. She was transfixed by the smooth nonchalance of the threat that it issued. "I'm implying that if you _ever_ touch her in a way that I deem inappropriate, you'll lose everything. Every cent you have will disappear. You'll find yourself caught up in the criminal justice system and convicted of child abuse and molestation. You know, that's the lowest rank in the prison system, right next to infant homicide. I wouldn't be surprised if your status granted you extensive privileges with the general population."

She barely breathed during the drawn-out warning. Menace coated his tone. She may not have understood it then, but his voice conveyed a familiar threat. She wondered now as she did then what Mr. Luthor would do if he knew everything that Nathan had already done to her by that point in time. Already, she held a large amount of respect and fear for Mr. Luthor. He seemed to be far more dangerous than Nathan, but he was using his power to try and protect her.

As much as she hated to admit it, Nathan did have a point. Why had Mr. Luthor shown up now? Why hadn't he come sooner? If he or Mr. Garcia came to check up on her regularly, surely they would have realized that something was wrong by now. In that instance, she felt a keen sense of betrayal. If he was her real father, why was she living with Nathan and Mina? More importantly, if she was so dear to him, why would he entrust someone like Nathan with her care? Dozens of similar questions went by unanswered.

Rage and hurt swelled in her chest. She was looking for a hero to rescue her from Nathan, but she had found none. Just as she had seen past Nathan's veneer of polite persuasion, she turned that critical eye onto Mr. Luthor. Perhaps he was using his powerful exterior to cover up the fact that he felt inadequate on the inside. He relied on the threat to regulate Nathan's behavior. Her present situation testified to the fact that the threat wouldn't work for long.

And Mr. Garcia? He was a servant, but a willing one. He sensed the reality behind the pretty pictures that Nathan painted, but he did nothing but insinuate. He seemed to be an emotional firecracker. As emotional as he was, he restrained that part of himself. In this memory, he had wrongfully done so in her eyes. He should've argued more. He should have convinced Mr. Luthor to look further into the matter.

But he didn't. Nathan took the threat in silence. Mr. Garcia and Mr. Luthor's departure came soon after that. Less-than-polite farewells were exchanged. She barely got out of the front of the house in time. As soon as she swung herself around the corner to the side of the house, she heard the door open. Footsteps clicked on the concrete. She should've flung herself out there and revealed herself as a victim.

Instead, she remained quiet. As much as she was bursting at the seams, she stayed in Nathan's control. Maybe it was her fault for making the choice. Maybe it was Nathan's for brainwashing her so well. She peeked just barely around the corner to obtain one last look at the two mysterious men. Mr. Garcia was already in the car, starting it up, but Mr. Luthor was just getting into the vehicle. He had his hand on top of the luxurious black Sedan. He seemed to pause in the middle of what he was doing.

To her surprise, his eyes went straight to her. Had she moved or given away her presence? Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs seemed unwilling to draw in air while those cutting, green eyes were focused on her. As a child, she was terrified of being discovered, but she detected no anger in his eyes. The only thing she could make out was possible curiosity. He held her gaze for an eternity before Mr. Garcia spoke to him. He got into the car, and she ran to the back of the house. She wouldn't see them again for years.

"Everything's going to be okay. You know that, right?" Sunny's voice brought her back to the present and out of her memories. It was easy to get lost in them, to dissociate from her body and think about things that weren't as bad as they were now. To ground herself in the current, she took an inventory of everything around her. The cigarette in her hand was mostly ash. She flicked the ash to the concrete sidewalk and brought her shaking hand to her mouth to take another drag.

Her hands had been shaking for hours. "I don't get it." Her voice was more agitated than she wanted it to be. "They called me in here this morning, but I've had to wait here all day. What the fuck are they waiting for?" They were sitting on an uncomfortable black bench in front of the police station. It was made of metal. How were people supposed to sit on this thing for hours on end? Her body ached from it. They had more comfortable seats inside the station, but she didn't want to risk talking to anyone before they officially started her interview.

She felt lightheaded from not eating anything all day. Her diet was one of caffeine and nicotine. She couldn't stomach anything else. Her nerves were so bad that she would surely vomit once something solid hit her stomach. Her skin was even more pallid than usual. The dark circles under her eyes stood out in harsh light. Under the dimmed sky of sunset, Alex was certain that she only looked more pathetic.

Sunny was the opposite. His tanned skin and spiked blonde hair seemed to glow under the orange light of the sun, which just made his blue eyes stand out even more. They reminded her of the color of the ocean, but brighter. Even in his concerned state, he looked miles better than she did. He had been with her for the past four hours after she called him on a payphone. She wasn't important enough to own a cell phone.

Her deep red curls had been thrown back haphazardly into a ponytail. Despite the warm temperature, she wore a hooded sweatshirt over her tank top. Her jeans were ripped at the knees. Her sneakers were in worse shape, ripped and dirty. When the police had called this morning and told her to come right away, she was expecting to be questioned almost immediately. It had been eleven hours since they called her, and they just told her to wait.

She hated waiting. If this was some kind of new torturing technique, it was working. All of her other encounters with the police had been short and sweet. Even when they caught her with possession of drugs, she had always remained confident and arrogant. It was nothing compared to this.

"Are you coming down from something?" The serious question in Sunny's soft voice brought out a rush of anger in her chest. The fact that he implied that she was dependent on drugs was something that they argued about almost constantly. Her body seemed to tremble more at the insinuation. She wanted to calm down, but it wasn't happening. It was almost exhausting to be in a state of hyperawareness for so long, but the same state prevented her from relaxing in any way.

"No," she said in an annoyed tone. "I had a joint three days ago. That's it." What she wouldn't do for something right now. Vicodin, Percocet, even fucking Xanax, for Christ's sake. Her heart kept up its fast, weakly fluttering beat. She could tell that Sunny was getting annoyed. His lips always twisted downward to reveal the dimple in his left cheek.

"I know you're not this upset over Nathan." She flinched in response to his statement. A chill went down her spine, and it tingled unpleasantly. She felt the same way she felt last night. Utterly and thoroughly violated. "Alex," he pleaded, his voice softer, "just tell me what's going on. What happened to you?" She struggled with her state of mind. As a result, the shaking only got worse. Now her lips were quivering, and moisture stung in her eyes. She wouldn't cry.

He'd been as gentle as he possibly could about the subject for four hours. His frustration was something that she could understand. But she didn't want to remember. If she remembered it, if she spoke it aloud, it would all become real. She couldn't allow that to happen. "Nothing." Her voice was hoarse and dry. She dropped the butt of her cigarette and put it out with her shoe before she threw it into the trash can next to the bench.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sunny's face change expressions. When she turned to look at him more closely, he pushed the neckline of her sweatshirt away from her neck. His hands were swift and very nearly rough as he examined the bruise on her neck with a furrowed brow. "Nothing? God_damnit_, I can't believe that bastard." Her hand smacked his aside, and she pulled the fabric back over her neck to cover the wound.

"It was my fault. I should know better than to open my mouth." Her mouth got her into trouble the most. Sarcastic remarks jumped to her lips far too easily. She didn't think before she spoke, and she paid for it. Even Sunny's light touch seemed to elicit pain from the dark, too-noticeable bruise. Nathan had been especially touchy when his company began to fail a year ago. Now that it was getting down to the nasty bits, he had been drinking to self-medicate. It didn't improve his mood.

"It's not your fault," he said with a scoff. She drew her knees up to her chest and placed her feet on the seat of the bench to steady herself. Her pack of cigarettes summarily was drawn out of her pocket again, and she gingerly took one out with her treacherous fingers. Her lighter came out next, but her thumb was shaking too badly to light it. "Here." Sunny took the lighter from her and lit it easily. She held the tip of her cigarette to the flame so that it would ignite and then took a long drag when it did. Then, "How many packs have you had today?"

"Sunny—" she warned in an irritated tone.

"Sorry." His immediate apology cut her off. She turned away from him and gave an aggravated sigh. If she needed a mother, she would go to an adoption agency. Inside, he was just concerned about her, but on the surface, it appeared that he was smothering her.

The next few minutes of silence were suddenly broken by the roaring engine of a midnight blue Lamborghini. Sunny gave an impressed whistle, but Alex's heart nearly stopped when she saw the faces inside. Both were wearing sunglasses, but there was no mistaking it. Mr. Luthor was still bald, and he looked exactly the same as when she saw him five years ago.

Mr. Garcia appeared worn. The wrinkles next to his eyes were more prominent. When they pulled into the police station's parking lot, she leaned her head back against the hard bench. "Holy shit, that was a nice car." The inner turmoil was too much to bear. She sprang to her feet with the intention of leaving, but at that precise moment, the door to the station opened.

"We're ready for you, Alexis." She cursed inwardly. Her mouth was drawn into a tight smile that she didn't mean as Sunny accompanied her inside.

_**Author's Note:**__ This is a re-write of a story that I wrote a while ago and have updated until recently. I decided to take the original down because I wanted to change some of the content. Much of the story will be the same, but it will be told in a different light._

_Please leave a comment to let me know what you think. Needs improvement? Leave some constructive criticism. Thanks to all readers who have been patiently waiting on me to produce something. Writer's block has been terrible lately. I'm hoping this will be a new start to a better story with better content._


	2. Liar, Liar

**Ch. 2: Liar, Liar**

By the time everyone filtered into the large conference room and sat around the circular table, it seemed like Alex had an entire army assembled against her. It didn't surprise her. The one thing that did come as an unnerving shock to her was that there were some unexpected guests. Thankfully, Mina was absent from the proceedings. Still, Mr. Garcia and Mr. Luthor presented an unknown factor. She despised not knowing why they were here and what would happen next based on her testimony.

She hadn't planned on giving them anything close to the full story of what happened last night, but the number of investigators surrounding her was intimidating. Her body seemed to shrink into itself with every bit of lost confidence. When she felt the pressure build, she reached under the table to grab Sunny's hand. He firmly gripped her hand in return and reassured her with a warm glance.

Her focus brought her to the intimate touch of Sunny's right hand. It was weathered by time spent in the sun as well as by tools he used in his job. When his wealthy father abandoned him and his mother, Sunny had to pick up a job doing construction. Despite his upbringing as a suburbanite with no training, he seemed to like the work. It was about that time when he began to strongly disapprove of her drug use.

Her thumb ran over the distinctive scar on the back of his hand between his thumb and index finger. It slashed downward from the sensitive area between the two fingers to the right side of his wrist. She could remember the moment in which it happened. Her memory provided her with a full-color portrait of the scene. A chain fence clattered, and Sunny cried out from above. She remembered looking up to see the skin of his hand torn back by a vicious piece of barbed wire. Blood seemed to splatter everywhere. Part of the muscle was exposed.

There was a moment between the time his skin was torn open and his fall from the fence. It was as if the barbed wire didn't want to let him go and Sunny would hang there by his hand with no way to get down. The horror of the sight hit her as hard now as it did then. Finally, Sunny's body fell down to the grass in a blur. The impact of gravity on his body was nothing compared to the pain he was suffering from his gruesome wound. Even though her first instinct was to run, she crouched down beside him and asked him if he was alright.

The beam of a flashlight filtered through the darkness, and another gunshot sounded. To Alex, it was the worst sound in the world. It was as if the bullet shattered the air around it, and the sound was the air protesting its own death. It was more than that. Every time she heard one, Nathan's face flashed in her mind. It was like being hit all over again, but it went straight to her heart like a shot of adrenaline.

She knew that the reclusive man who owned the property was getting closer to the trespassers. Mitch was already out of sight. Her hand fought to get a grip on Sunny's uninjured arm. She pulled as hard as she could. Impossibly, he managed to get to his feet and run with her. Their hands stayed together as they ran as if they were glued there. It was probably just a result of the shock of almost being shot.

The sheriff cleared his throat. She realized that she had been spacing out again. Escaping. Sunny gave her hand another squeeze as if to ground her in the here and now. "Evening, Alex. Sorry it took so long, but everyone had to get here." The old man's brown eyes shifted to Mr. Luthor and Mr. Garcia. There was no love lost between them. She wondered if something had happened there, or if Brian was just annoyed by the long delay. "As you can see, there are a few extra people with us today. I think introductions are in order." He tilted his head.

The man next to him was squat and thick around the middle. His glasses were in plain, black frames. Behind them, his eyes were a dull gray. He had hair that was too dark for his pale skin color. She mused that he might be dyeing it to cover up the silver hairs. His hairline was receding in the classic horseshoe shape. His tan suit was wrinkled in the slightest, and there was a stain on his tie. "I'm Gary Vance. I'll be keeping a record of everything said here." His voice was almost unbearably nasally. She wondered if he snored at night.

The only other woman in the room sat next to Mr. Vance. She was dressed sharply in a gray suit with an emerald green silk blouse underneath. She had beautiful features and appeared to be Hawaiian or part Asian. Her almond-shaped eyes were dark and friendly. She had a nose that Mina would have killed for, small and pert, and her lips were drawn into a smile. "Hi, Alex. I'm a psychologist with the state of California. I'm just here to see how you're doing after what happened. My name is Natalie Freeman." Her soft, black hair was cut stylishly to her chin and softened her face.

It was Mr. Garcia's turn. "Ted Garcia, with the FBI. My associate and I are here to evaluate your condition to see if you need to be placed into protective custody." She could see suspicion in Ms. Freeman's eyes at this admission. Garcia and Luthor were both perfectly groomed. Garcia wore a standard suit, while Luthor's suit was black with a purple tie over a black silk shirt. The bright color stood out against all the darkness and brought out his green eyes.

"Mr. Smith," Mr. Luthor lied smoothly. She felt the sting of anger. She didn't need more men coming into her life and lying to her. She hoped that this visit would be enough for another five-year period of absence. He ignored her prolonged glare. By her side, Sunny bristled at the man sitting next to him. Mr. Luthor didn't feel right to him, either.

The man in uniform next to her gave her a small smile. "You know me, Alex. Deputy Alan Cross." The tall, thin man's five o'clock shadow was showing. He had a brown mustache above his thin lips. His nose dominated most of his features, but his small eyes were kind. They were the color of caramel. He had arrested her a number of times along with the sheriff.

"Sheriff Brian Gantry." Gantry looked down at the paperwork he had in front of him that sat on top of a thick file. She had no doubt that the file contained her permanent record. It held every time she had pushed the envelope and gotten caught doing it. He glanced up suddenly, as if he remembered something. "And, for the record, Sundance Collins is also in attendance."

From the corner of her eye, Sunny flinched at the abomination that was his real name. Her lips tightened at the corners as if she wanted to smile, but her present condition only allowed for a moment of nervous amusement. His mother openly admitted that he had been conceived at the Sundance Film Festival and was named after it. Distracted by her own inner dialogue, she nearly missed the contempt in Luthor's eyes when he heard the name.

Gantry was busy reading the papers in front of him. When he was through with them, he looked up at her sympathetically. "Why don't you just tell us about last night, Alex? Start from about six p.m." The eyes in the room turned on her. Vance was the only one who wasn't looking at her. He was staring down at the pad next to his tape recorder and taking notes. The light had been red ever since Sheriff Gantry had started the proceedings.

She looked down at the table. "I was out for most of the day. I went over to Sunny's house." This small admission was enough to prompt a herd of curious looks and mouths that were bursting to ask questions. Gantry sensed this and asked the question first.

"What were you doing there?" She could almost hear some of the negative, judgmental thoughts going through their minds. Then again, it might have just been her own insecurity spurring pessimism about how other people viewed her. She glanced up for a moment. Mostly, she read curiosity in their gazes. Vance stared blandly down at his own handwriting.

"Playing video games. Talking. Sunny's my ex, but we're still relatively close." She looked up at Sunny for a brief moment. He seemed to encourage her to go into detail. "His dad left. They're still trying to cope, so I'm over there a lot to help out." She couldn't help another glance at Sunny to see if he was mad at her for bringing it up. There was a calmness in his eyes that comforted her.

Gantry nodded. His satisfaction with the response seemed to spread around the room. Mr. Luthor's eyes held mysteries that she couldn't begin to unravel. She didn't want to try. Strain was the last thing she needed right now. "Go on. What time did you leave?"

"Eight. I walked home. His house is only two blocks from mine," she explained. Instead of studying Mr. Luthor's inexplicable presence, she turned her eyes to the psychologist, Ms. Freeman. "When I got home, there was no sign of Nathan or Mina." This time, she was interrupted by Ms. Freeman, who was also jotting down notes, but she was more polite about it.

"Nathan and Mina are your parents, correct?" She could feel the irrational response of her jaw tightening in anger. She remembered how it used to annoy the hell out of her when she was younger. Now, the response had softened over time.

"My foster parents. I don't know who my real parents are." The magnetism of Mr. Luthor's stare brought her eyes to his. In that moment, she understood that she had been right in assuming that he was her father. That was why he was so intrigued, so involved. It was too bad that he had only seen her twice in her life.

"How long have you known that you were adopted?" Ms. Freeman's soft questions had an ulterior motive. She was assessing Alex, analyzing her, and trying to figure out if she was capable of what had been done. Alex was loath to trust the cute, personable exterior of the mental health professional.

"I've known my whole life. They didn't really hide it from me, and I would've known anyway." It was then that she noticed that she was chewing on her lip. It was a nervous reaction to the nugget of information she had revealed. She couldn't tell them much more than that. Before the psychologist could ask another question, Alex abruptly continued. "So I was home alone for about three hours. I ate some frozen pizza, went upstairs, and listened to music for a while."

"At approximately what time did the Lancasters come home?" It was Gantry's question this time. It was a standard police question, but her throat tightened when she thought about answering. Her words threatened to choke her, but she swallowed and found herself able to answer.

"Eleven-thirty. They were arguing about something." As soon as she said it, she felt like she was home again. Upstairs, with the bedroom door perched open, she had been on the computer when the front door slammed shut. The noise of Mina's screeching had made her jump. She remembered cautiously walking out of her room, her footsteps virtually silent, and looking downstairs to see what was going on.

"Did you hear what they were arguing about?" The tentative question was posed by Deputy Cross this time. He was a fairly sensitive man who was more in touch with his emotional side than Sheriff Gantry. Brian often teased Alan that he was being too much of a girl when the three of them played Poker during some of Alex's arrests.

"No," she lied. Her face was completely blank. Instead of being fully present in the conference room, part of her was back at the house, listening to Mina shout about Nathan being drunk yet again. He had done something embarrassing at the party they were attending. That much she gleaned from intuition and experience.

Nathan was so powerful when he was fighting with Alex, but with Mina, it was completely different. He wanted to pacify her and to give her everything she wanted. This time, it didn't work. Mina did the unthinkable. For the first time, she slapped Nathan right in the face. After the echoing smack, Alex was stunned. No one had ever undermined Nathan's masculinity in such a direct way before, and coming from Mina, it had to hurt.

He was just as stunned as Alex was. Mina had stormed off into the night and slammed the door behind her. Nathan remained frozen in place. The only movement he made was to bring his hand to his face in astonishment. His face crumpled all of a sudden. Awe was replaced by humiliation and rage. It was all she could do to draw back before he saw her. Her heart thumped hard, but he didn't come up to her room.

The glimpse of memory disappeared. Her knuckles touched the bottom of the table. The cold temperature brought her senses back online. "Mina left a few minutes later. I shut my door and went to sleep." That sounded suspicious. She found herself unable to continue. Her eyes stared straight down at the mottled blue of the table. She wished that this was enough to satisfy them but knew it wouldn't be sufficient.

She only looked up when the papers in Gantry's hands were ruffled and rearranged. "Were you asleep all night?" Her instinct told her to lie. A thousand excuses leapt to her mind. Her entire life had been based on learning how to lie just the right way to get herself out of trouble. Ignoring her instinct, she decided to tell at least part of the truth. It was either courageous or stupid. Possibly a bit of both.

"No." In the darkness, she lay in her bed trying to get back to sleep. A dream had awoken her, but she was unable to remember what it was. The illuminated numbers on the clock stared at her. Irritated, she turned the light on and began to change her clothes. "I woke up at 3:30 in the morning. Couldn't go back to sleep." All at once, several eyebrows twitched upwards. It could've been an admission of guilt.

"What did you do then?" asked Deputy Cross. He seemed to be more in tune with her than the rest of the room. He knew that he would have to drag the answers out of her. How many answers was she willing to give? Her unoccupied hand went up so that her fingers could toy with her bottom lip. It was another sign of her increasing anxiety. Would she be arrested based on the information she gave?

"I got dressed and went downstairs. The house was quiet." The only thing that she had noticed that was out of place was that the living room light was on. Normally, the house was dark after Nathan and Mina were in bed. It occurred to her that Nathan may have been sleeping off the alcohol on the couch. She didn't pay any attention to it then. She just went through the sliding door in the kitchen and out to the pool. "I went swimming."

"At night?" It was Mr. Garcia who piped up first this time. It was clear in his tone that he didn't think that this was an acceptable idea. In his mind, she was probably having pool sex with Sunny or something equally trashy. Teenagers didn't swim for the fun of it.

"Yes. I told you, I couldn't sleep." Alex bit the inside of her cheek in irritation. Who were they to criticize her nightly habits? And swimming held a special place in her heart. It was the only thing she really could do to forget about everything else without putting dangerous substances in her body.

"Do you do this often?" Ms. Freeman continued, "When you wake up in the middle of the night, is your first reaction to go swimming?" The young psychologist was brimming with energy. Alex felt physically ill. If the woman asked her how she felt about that, she might throw up and recant everything she had said.

"Yes, I do. It's calming. I don't have to think about anything. I just swim." She wanted to wince at her own words. She sounded like an after-school special about extracurricular activities. Swimming was her guilty pleasure. "I always swim when I can't sleep. I think it tires me out." She swiped her hand over her face to push back any stray hairs.

"How long were you swimming?" Sheriff Gantry was in charge again. His eyes showed that he was intrigued by what she was saying. She felt like a living episode of Forensic Files. She nearly laughed because of her nervous energy, but she stifled the urge. It might not be the best idea to laugh in the face of possible homicide charges.

She could feel the waves cresting against her face. Her arms were cutting through the thick water. When she reached one side of the pool, she would flip under the water and use the wall to push off in the other direction. She continued this for as long as she could stand it. The distance from one side to the other was practically ingrained in the cells of her body because she swam it so often. "About forty-five minutes."

"That would make the time 4:15. The coroner estimates the time of death to be around 4:30. Could you tell us what you saw?" Gantry's question was far more loaded than it seemed. He was asking a lot of her, maybe too much. After all, she was only sixteen years old. Maybe she shouldn't have agreed to be questioned in the first place. Maybe she should've stolen some money from Mina and hired a lawyer.

She could feel her heart rate increase. A shaky breath escaped her as she tried to block the rest of the memory, but it came with such violent force that she couldn't stop it. Her hand instinctively covered her face as she slipped into defensive mode. She didn't want anyone to see her in the state she was in, especially not Garcia and Luthor. They would probably place her in a mental hospital. Her heart squeezed with pain as the terror of the thought struck her hard.

That wasn't the only fear she was feeling. She was back in the pool again. She could almost feel the water surrounding her, nurturing her like the mother she never had. Her legs started to ache the slightest bit, so it was time to get out. She broke through the water's surface to climb the ladder. The climb was practiced and made without any reservations until she looked down at where she had placed her towel on the way into the pool.

It was gone. The white fleece should've been easy to spot in the darkness, but she found herself looking around far longer than usual. She shivered lightly as she walked by the side of the pool towards the yard to see if it had gotten blown by the wind into the grass.

The panic that seized her was just as powerful as the first time. Foreign hands seared the skin of her abdomen and pulled her body against a solid wall of heat. In a split second, she turned her head to see what was behind her. The sight of Nathan's reddened face greeted her. She smelled alcohol on him. It was as if he had bathed in it. Her lungs burst into a terrified shriek, but it never left her lips. One of the impossibly strong hands was clapped over her mouth, and her screams were muffled.

Her heart stuttered an alarmingly fast beat in her chest. There was no one to hear her scream. The nearest neighbor was a mile away. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she bit the hand that restricted her cries. For a moment of breathlessness, she was released, but the freedom came with a price. The next thing she knew, her jaw was being forced up into a tooth-grinding punch. A river of blood filled her mouth so quickly that she nearly choked on it before she opened her mouth and bled onto the marble by the pool. The blood clouded the luminescent green of the jewels embedded in the stone.

She had bitten her tongue. It was swollen in her mouth, and it made it hard, if not impossible, to scream. The hands that had been around her waist now connected with her chest in a forceful shove. She ran into a real wall this time, and the uneven rock hit the back of her head enough to make dark buds of pain bloom in the darkness.

All of a sudden, his body was pressing against hers again. She had no room to escape against the rocky, uncomfortable wall. All she wanted to do was to get away as fast as she could, but it was becoming increasingly hopeless. Her thoughts of a planned escape all disintegrated in the panic that gripped her so hard that every single part of her body froze. Her legs were quickly supported by those hands that were burning her skin, marking her and violating every inch that they touched.

All she could think was, _Oh god, no, this can't be happening. _Over and over again, she tried to deny the reality of events, but she was met with hard, physical evidence that she couldn't ignore. She felt a tear slip down her cheek. She never cried. She couldn't cry in front of Nathan. She couldn't show weakness like that. But her eyes stung with the moisture of tears, and she couldn't stop them from coming.

Her mouth was heavy with blood and swelling, and she couldn't open her mouth to scream. _Fight. Fight back, damnit! _She couldn't even move a finger as he tore off the top of her bikini. Hatred blossomed inside of her and multiplied into an indescribable fury that incited every cell. She hated Nathan for touching her. She hated herself for being useless when it counted the most. He hadn't even disabled her arms and legs, but she couldn't move them. It was as if he had placed weights on her hands and feet. The fact that she couldn't get herself to move pissed her off the most.

It was the first time in her life that she had ever considered herself truly _helpless_ in a situation. When Nathan hit her, she chose not to hit back because it would only get her into further trouble. This was completely different. He was raping her and touching her in places that made her never want to be touched again by anyone, ever. A violent heave went through her stomach, and she watched herself get up from the conference table and leave.

She felt like a ghost on the outside watching her body as she calmly went into the bathroom. A moment was spent taking a glance in the mirror at her pale, sickly face, and then she bent in front of one of the toilets to vomit. She could feel the spasms in her stomach, but she wasn't in her body. Cold sweat dripped down her face. Not even her hands gripping the cold toilet could bring her back to her body.

All the while, she suffered through the endless minutes of her own rape. Nathan's hands wrapped around her neck. His thumbs pressed into her trachea, and she started to choke in both of her worlds. She couldn't get air into her lungs in either situation. It seemed like forever until the pain ended.

There was so much pain. Physically, his hands had damaged her neck and her wrists until the skin on both turned dark. She remembered stinging, painful bites at some point. The marks left by his vicious teeth were still sore on her collarbone and chest. She was heaving the few liquids and solids she had left in her stomach into the porcelain bowl, and her stomach contracted harshly. The uncomfortable, violated feeling between her legs wouldn't go away.

Though the physical pain was bad, the emotional onslaught was far, far worse. Pure humiliation seeped through her body as if her blood were laced with it. It made her feel like she was nothing. If she couldn't even protect herself, what was she? Far from willing, yet she froze like a stupid, hopeless victim. She wanted to pull out her hair in devastation. What did she have left to live for?

Then came the empty feeling. Someone had taken her body and just hollowed it out until just the skin and bones were left. There were times when she felt intense rage and sadness and times when she felt nothing at all, often within minutes of each other. And Nathan…that bastard was finally dead, but she still wanted to beat the hell out of him until he was just as weakened and debilitated as he had left her.

When he was finally done with her, he had laughed in her face and called her a good girl, like she was a dog performing a trick. As if she had complied. There was that feeling of nothing and then the feeling of everything hitting her at once. She remembered finally screaming in agony, pure, unadulterated _agony_. He backed away from her nervously, and she fell to the marble and covered her face with her hands as she screamed and sobbed and cried out every bit of her pain.

She could feel her own heart beating its odd rhythm in her chest, but there was another, less staccato than hers and less powerful. In all her rage, she imagined that she clamped down on the beating organ and squeezed with all her might. She didn't physically move. All of her pain and fury and sadness and hatred seemed to become material. She held it all as tightly as she could. Even her muscles were tightened in an effort to get it all out in one focused session of emotional backlash.

_I __**HATE**__ YOU! _The thought repeated in her mind, each repetition as intense as the first utterance, and the ball of emotion in her stomach became tighter and tighter. A string of curses flowed through her mind. Just when she thought she couldn't hold it any longer, she heard a thud in the grass. Skittish and gearing up for another attack, she was on her feet again and ready to run. Only Nathan's prone form stopped her. She cautiously approached the man lying in the grass. In her mind, she was afraid that it was another trick, but she reasoned that he might have passed out from the consumption of alcohol.

She took the first deep breath she had been able to take in those long minutes of torture and looked at his face. It seemed to contain a ghost of pain in his barely twisted features, but it struck her immediately that he was dead. Logically, it was too good to be true, so it couldn't be. He was sleeping.

But as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she became more certain that his chest wasn't rising and falling. His lips were turning blue in the dim light of the moon. _Fuck. _At that moment, she was confused, astonished, and afraid all at the same time. What the hell had happened to him?

Her body moved of its own volition as it dressed herself again. She walked around to the front and sat in the gazebo next to the porch. It was closed-off to the outside except for screens that allowed a breeze to flow through the small area. She closed the door behind her and began to smoke the pack of cigarettes she kept in here in case she ever ran out. It was the first time she had noticed that her hands were shaking, and they hadn't stopped since.

Her hands shook on the porcelain in front of her. A hand that wasn't hers reached up to flush the toilet. The sound shocked her so much that she turned back right away. She half-expected Nathan's face to be there, but it was Ms. Freeman. The woman was asking her a question over and over again, but her hearing only decided to come back after the toilet was done flushing. "Alexis. Are you alright?"

"I'm done," she snapped. Her eyes were fierce as they looked up at the concerned and confused woman. "I told you what I know." The other woman gave her a piteous look and left the bathroom, presumably to inform the police of the new development. Alex leaned down to the faucet and cupped some water in her hand to deposit into her mouth. She spat it back out. Her mouth felt only a little cleaner. Her body felt as if she were in a pit full of cockroaches; the tingling and utter disgust at herself wouldn't stop.

It seemed like mere moments before the bathroom door was slammed open so hard that she jumped. The hair on the back of her neck rose in response. Visceral fear coursed through her as she turned around to face a concerned Sunny. One breath. Two. Then he pulled her close and enveloped her with warmth that sickened and comforted her at the same time. She wanted to squirm out of his arms, to say that if he touched her again, she would kill him, but because it was Sunny, she stayed still and quiet. She tried to decipher what he was whispering, but the words were too fast, too jumbled.

She heard the door open again, this time more subtly, and saw Sheriff Gantry's face. He didn't look disappointed. In fact, he seemed to be just as concerned as Sunny was. "This was a voluntary interview. You're free to leave at any time, and I suggest that you go home and get some rest." His voice was soft and gravelly at the same time. His eyes were gravely alarmed. "You won't be brought up on charges. The autopsy report says he died of natural causes. A heart attack."

This was meant to comfort her, but it did just the opposite. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and then came the phantom staccato beat of Nathan's heart fresh in her memory. She could barely remember to breathe. Sunny's crushing grip finally eased, but she was still enveloped in the temporary safety of his grasp.

"You shouldn't have ever asked her to come in," he accused vehemently. Gantry's eyes didn't change. His expression reminded her of a bloodhound's, but the sheriff's expression was far deeper in thought and muddled with sadness. With all of this male protectiveness, she felt fragile. She hated fragility. Her reserves were so drained that she couldn't do anything about it, unless she wanted to pass out in the process of trying.

"It wasn't my decision." For the first time, she saw indignation in his eyes. Those eyes peeked back into the hallway to make sure that it was still empty before he spoke again. "Something's not right. Why would the federal government be interested in this?" She knew the answer. Mr. Luthor was behind it all. He wanted to see her squirm like a rat in a cage. He had been watching her with rapt attention and analyzing her every thought and emotion. Studying her.

"Let's go." There was nothing behind her voice. She felt empty again. The impatient girl inside her wanted to be finished with all of this, to forget it all happened and to go back to normal, but that was impossible. The memory was seared into her mind. It was Nathan's parting gift to make sure that she suffered with it for the rest of her life.

"We're gone," Sunny soothed. Her legs didn't want to work right. He made up for that by carrying her, threshold-style, out of the police station. Her eyes were closed when he gently placed her into the passenger's seat of the beat-up, red and white truck with his coat wrapped around her.

She barely remembered the ride home. Sleep came and went. She was tired and restless. Every unexpected noise would startle her out of her light sleep. Her heart pounded even though she was weak. Apparently, she wasn't exhausted enough to be immune to fear.

She hated the word, the concept, and the feeling. Its impression on her life seemed everlasting. Before yesterday, she would have liked to say that she wasn't afraid of Nathan after all these years. It would have been a lie, even then. She would have to be inhuman to not have deep fear instilled in her from all of the beatings and the threats, no matter how much she tried to get used to them. Stability was something that she had never experienced. It was why she could never stay in one place for too long.

Disorientation twisted her world when she woke up in her room. It took her a few seconds to recognize the spinning walls and the blurred numbers on her alarm clock that glowed blue. There was a sense of unmistakable dread in the pit of her chest, and when her vision returned to normal, she saw why. There was a piece of paper tucked underneath the base of the digital clock with her name written on it in black pen. It was Sunny's handwriting.

She reached for it slowly and missed the first time. Her motor skills were clumsy. The second time, she grabbed the thin sheet of folded paper and opened it. The thin letters seemed to dance on the page. She closed her eyes, steadied herself, and began to read.

_Alex,_

_I can't do this anymore. I know times are tough right now, but I can't take the ups and downs. I wanted you to be my girl again. It's too hard to handle your "habits." Mom and I are leaving today. I won't tell you where we're going, because if I did, I would be waiting for you to come and see us._

_Love,_

_Sunny_

A soft breath was forced from her mouth. The floor had been ripped out from under her. Her safety net was gone. She had nothing. Worse, she had driven away the only good thing in her life. The anger boiled in her chest. She was angry at herself, at Sunny, at Nathan and Mina, at Garcia and Luthor. She didn't want to admit that she was crying. The warm tear that slid down her cheek went ignored. There were dual desires to tear the note up and to keep it forever, but she couldn't decide which was better.

A quiver of her lips was almost too much to bear. The heat and the ache festered in her chest, the deep, resonating sadness made her feel hollow inside, and the tears were streaming freely now. It was probably the most she'd ever cried in her life. For a solid three minutes, she allowed herself to wallow in the pain and the self-pity, and then it was time to end it.

It was time to see Mitch.

_**Author's Note: **__The reason for the name of the chapter is that there are several manipulators already in play, including Alex herself, Lex Luthor, Nathan, and Mina. Even Sunny used a bit of deception throughout the chapter, reassuring Alex that he was there for her and then leaving her cold._

_Let me know what you guys think; reviews are appreciated._


	3. Here Comes the Fire

**Ch. 3: Here Comes the Fire**

With one flick of the metal encased lighter, the side of Alex's thumb brushed against the thumbwheel to create a spark and light the wick. She spent a moment examining the small flame, steady and bright, before she held it to the edge of Sunny's note. The edge touching the flame immediately began to blacken. A fringe of blue flame clung to the edge and slowly burned the paper. There was a loud click as she flipped the top back down on the lighter to extinguish the flame.

She watched the note burn. Each one of Sunny's thin, slanted letters melted away and became black before they disintegrated into specks that disappeared into the air. Her focus was infinite. She paid close attention to the intimate destruction of something so critical. Within a minute and a half, the flame reached her index finger and thumb. The unpleasant smell became even more unbearable as her skin blistered. The pain was intense. She held on until the last bit of paper burned, and then there was nothing more for the fire to consume. It died flush with her fingertips, which appeared boiled and angry red. If only it had kept going.

She had heard of people doing it in India out of protest. Setting yourself on fire had to be one of the most painful ways to die. It wasn't the way she was planning on dying. If she was stopped, either by herself or someone else, she would come away with nothing but burns and shame. No, she was looking for something more finite. With her unique physiology, resistant to cutting, hanging, and toxins, she was going for the one thing that she was certain would work. The only problem was getting her hands on it.

Her mind floated away from the cold wood underneath her jeans. The wind faintly blowing against her skin was completely forgotten. Her memories took her back to her bathroom, five months ago. The steady stream of water pouring from the sink seemed to soothe her panic. It had all started with an experimental press of a sharp blade against her skin. The handle of the switchblade had been warmed by her hands. It was almost a relief to see her skin split open to a chasm of dark red blood pooling at the surface. In that moment, there was nothing in existence but the knife, her body, and the water.

There was pain. It wasn't as bad as she thought it might be. It was better than one of Nathan's beatings. She had control of this. Her hand shifted the knife so that the point dug deeper into muscle and tendon. There was something tearing inside of her, but it had nothing to do with her physical being. She felt like a clock whose rhythm ran fast, an irregular heartbeat, a goldfish held in a net just above the water and flopping helplessly in an effort to survive.

She felt the resistance of bone, rock solid against her soft pressure, and moved the knife between her radius and ulna. The knife stood up on its own when she removed her fingers from the handle, like a grotesque magic trick. She was engrossed in it. Two seconds passed before she slammed her palm down on the handle. With a debilitating flash of pain, she watched the bloodied silver protrude from the other side of her forearm with detached fascination.

The fingers of her right hand gave a sickening involuntary twitch. She couldn't feel them anymore. There was only pain shooting up her arm and the burn of the steel in her flesh. Blood dripped rapidly from the tip of the knife to the white tile. She wanted badly to bleed out. It wasn't the first time she had considered suicide.

The wall had been cold and hard against her back. Time seemed to run ingloriously slow, dragging along like molasses when she wanted it to fly. As the pool of blood seeped into her jeans, spreading along the tile, her consciousness began to slip away from her. Her head was dizzy with sensation, adrenaline buzzing pleasantly through her veins to mask the pain. She closed her eyes.

A cold sweat sent a chill through her. When she opened her eyes again, she found Mr. Luthor staring at her. He barely leaned against the doorway of the gazebo, which gave her the impression that he had been here long enough to risk dirtying his suit with the weather-worn wood. Garcia wasn't with him. It was the first time that she had ever seen him alone, face-to-face with her with no guards or masks to hide behind.

Alex openly stared in defiance and did nothing to break the awkward silence between them. He had seemed so tall and intimidating when she was younger. He had been someone who commanded respect with his every word and movement. Now, he still caste an imposing shadow, but she had been under the stress of Nathan's threats of violence for far too long to be intimidated. The only sign that he had aged at all were slight, nearly invisible wrinkles around the corners of his eyes. His pale skin was impeccable, like hers, but he had less freckles scattered on his cheeks. The porcelain skin made his eyes blaze at least three dynamic shades of green.

"Do you do that often?" His voice had changed immeasurably from the business-like, commanding tone that he had used in conversation with Nathan years ago. It was soft. The change in demeanor caught her off-guard. She felt her entire body stiffen with anxiety as she went on the defensive.

"Do what?" Her answer was combative and her body tense. She didn't have the patience to pacify another authoritative male in her life. She wished that he would just disappear again. As of now, he was blocking her currently chosen path. If she was important enough to force him to come to California to monitor a police investigation mounted against her, her suicide wouldn't be in his plans. Mr. Luthor definitely looked like a man with a plan. She would have to wait to discover what exactly he was plotting. If she lived long enough.

She felt herself instinctively move back as far as she could when he came further into the gazebo and sat down. She had the feeling that his eyes didn't miss her discomfort. He was constantly analyzing her. Her personal space was being invaded. She wasn't used to being picky about personal space, but Nathan's death had changed everything. "Stare into space with complete disregard of your surroundings." His eyes were difficult to read. She couldn't tell whether he had a hidden agenda or if he was just curious. Her metaphysical walls went up. This man was a manipulator, and she didn't want to be manipulated any longer.

"Do you always invade other people's privacy?" she snapped. Her dark moment wasn't as private as she had thought. She didn't want to give off any signals. If this man was as good at reading her as she thought he was, he would catch on quickly. It seemed that she didn't have much to worry about. If she could read his enigmatic expression, she would imagine it to be condescending. He probably thought that she was ungrateful. She detected a small shrug of his shoulder.

"I didn't expect you to be here." It took her a moment to realize that it was eleven o'clock on a Monday. She was supposed to be in school. She hadn't been to school in so long that she barely remembered the times when the other teenagers were forced to attend class. All of her friends were older and had already dropped out or graduated. What she remembered of her time at high school was largely fuzzy due to her being high half the time, while the other half was violent and hostile. When she said nothing, he expanded his response. "My impression was that you were still enrolled in high school."

A moment passed before she decided that he was serious. If she didn't tell him what was going on, he would probably find out anyways through a super secret spy computer or by intimidating her principal. "Nathan made a deal with the principal. As long as he gives me good grades, he doesn't have to deal with me starting fights. Attendance is optional but not preferred." She couldn't read him any better than before, but she might have sensed some disapproval in his features. A slight wrinkling of his forehead and a lowering of his brow betrayed his almost-blank expression. If he was an education nut, they would not get along well. She hated structure.

"And Mina approves of this?" The hardest part about answering that question was keeping her face straight. Trying very hard to keep the cynicism off her face, she nodded. Her eyebrows had still gone up, but at least she didn't burst into laughter. She wondered what kind of people he thought they were. Perhaps there was a little deception involved after all. He wasn't infallible if Nathan and Mina could lie to him and get away with it. Then again, he could have seen the signs and ignored them. Neither spoke well for his parenting skills, if he had any. "What do you do to pass the time?"

Drugs, she wanted to say. Vicodin to keep the demons away, and Ecstasy to make her feel like it was possible to be loved. They were all any teenager needed to get out of that pesky rebellious phase. She didn't care about anything when she took the Vicodin, and it was the most relaxed she could possibly be. Ecstasy was good for parties or nights when she played X-Box with Sunny. She kept her eyes locked with his and evaluated where this line of questioning was going. Did she really want this bastard on her back while she was trying to plan out her suicide? No. It was time to change tactics. Initiate ungrateful spoiled brat mode. "You know, if you wanted a child, you could have done the trendy thing and gotten one from Botswana." Translation: she didn't need anyone, especially him.

His scarred lip was drawn upward into a smirk. He was back in condescending mode again. Father and daughter, waged in war, were using the same techniques to defend themselves from the coming onslaught. Change tracks, don't admit weakness. It was conceivable to think that she had inherited her standoffishness from him. She had gone through a lifetime of lies, and she didn't want to be lied to anymore. "They were all out. You have my blood, Alexis." She rolled her eyes at the sentiment, even though it was veiled as stone-cold logic. In her eyes, he could've gotten the same reaction if he had said that he loved her and wanted to raise her as his daughter. That shit only happened in Lifetime movies.

"You accidentally knocked up some chick and gave me up for adoption." Adoption with the world's worst parents, she wanted to add. Thanks for the superficial California housewife and the abusive asshole who raped her. Great job. The thoughts only made her more hostile. She was out for blood now. "That doesn't exactly qualify you to be a father; you're only a sperm donor." Inside, she winced at her own words. Push him away, she told herself. Do it so that she could get her life over with. She was tired of the disgust crawling through her skin at her victimization. She was tired of hating herself so much that she wanted to end her own life.

He pushed a breath out sharply through his nose, but that was the only sign of his frustration. Not only was he a liar, but he was a good one at that. That poker face was something she saw in the mirror every day. "It was the best decision at the time, and the Lancasters were more than suitable foster parents." She could barely believe her ears. There was such a strong emotional current running through her that she couldn't stay seated anymore. She stood up, confident, angry, and vengeful, and stood still for a moment. She felt as if she had just been struck by lightning, and she was fighting her way back to the world of the living.

She faced the door while she was talking. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of even looking at him while she corrected his misperception. "You and I clearly have different definitions of 'suitable,'" she protested in a clipped voice. She didn't bother to wait before she exited the gazebo at a quick pace and slammed the door behind her. She heard the wood splinter as a result of the force. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. The blood in her veins was on fire. She was so emotionally charged that she thought that she might explode at the next available source.

She absolutely hated him. Despised him. How that man could ever think that those two were good parents was beyond her. If he had been trying to gain her favor, he had failed miserably. She wondered if he was actively trying to be a jackass or if it was an accident. She was glad that he didn't follow her and hoped that he wouldn't be there when she got back. She would rather deal with Mina at this point, which was saying something.

She could tell by the look that Mina had given her the last time they saw each other that she didn't believe it was a mere accident. She could almost hear Mina's thoughts whispering, "_Evil, he let evil into our home and it killed him._" Mina's voice was so clear in her head that she could have been hallucinating, but the intensity in Mina's eyes when she glared at her told Alex that she wasn't imagining that malice. There was no love lost between them.

Why did Mr. Luthor get her so fired up? Even his presence acted as a catalyst to make her blood boil. She wanted to lash out at him, to make him leave. Him and his damn bodyguard. They both acted like they were heroes, but they had stood by and done nothing when presented with evidence of her mistreatment. Her emotions were running wild, no longer tightly reined in like she wanted them to be. He was infuriating. So calm and arrogant. He reminded her of Nathan. She didn't need a replacement for the abuse that she had already suffered. She wouldn't stand for it, even if she had to settle for suicide by overdose just to end her life early.

She hated him for bringing tears to her eyes. He couldn't possibly be that ignorant if he was a multibillion-dollar businessman. They had seen indications of abuse when they had visited before. He was just burying his head in the sand and hoping for the best. He had believed whatever lies Nathan fed him, that was for sure. She had no doubt that Nathan had painted a picture of a perfectly adjusted, diligent student who participated in extracurricular activities. No, she had gotten over that initial shyness and bad streak of behavior. She could almost hear Nathan's lies buzzing in her head.

Her heart was broken. Her only support was gone, and she was supposed to deal with her genetic father like a good girl? Bullshit. Her life had been miserable before Sunny left and before Nathan raped her. What was there left to live for? Mina would probably kick her out. She wouldn't have anywhere to go, unless Mitch decided to take her. Unconsciously, she shuddered.

Trepidation deep in her spine interrupted her thought process as she got closer to Sunny's house. She could see it around the corner. The pavement pounded faster under her sneakers, and before she knew it, she was running. There was no car in the driveway. All of the blinds were pulled shut. The tan brick house with white framed windows never looked so desolate. It used to be a place of hope. She hopped over the chain-link fence with practiced ease and went around back to check the sliding glass door. She could time every beat of her heart as her sneakers flattened the perfectly cut grass.

The panels that were supposed to cover the view of the inside of the house had been missing when they bought it. It seemed to tear her heart again when she was confronted with an empty kitchen. There was no furniture, the marble counters were bare, and the well-polished wooden floor was as clean as ever. It was completely devoid of any signs of the living. She could see one corner of the living room, and the sky blue carpet was as visible as the kitchen floor. There were no couches or mirrors or paintings on the wall. It couldn't be true. The empty, hollow feeling in her chest was only temporary. This wasn't happening. The only place that she had ever felt at home had been cleaned out and gutted, and the family within it had disappeared without a trace.

Before she knew what she was doing, she drew her right arm back and pounded her forearm against the glass. It shook hard under the initial hit. She did over and over again, gaining some measure of satisfaction from beating the shit out of the inanimate object. A shout escaped her throat with the last crushing blow that she delivered with all her strength, and finally the door shattered. There were cuts in her arm and a few pieces of glass stuck there, but the worst of it would probably be the swelling. She couldn't feel any of it.

She didn't give a shit about pain. Pain was a part of her daily life. It was the emotional wear that hurt the most. She didn't want to admit it, as tough as she pretended to be. She was one of the boys. But now the only important boy was gone. The adrenaline made her heart stutter in her chest quicker than ever. She thought she might have a heart attack if it got much faster. Her hands swiped over her hair and found shards of glass there, too. The small pieces cut her fingers, but she got every last bit out of the deep red strands. The bleeding went unnoticed. The glass on the wooden floor crunched underneath her shoes as she stepped into the abandoned house.

She took the path that had become so familiar to her over the years. Through the kitchen, to the left side of the living room, up the stairs, and two doors down. It was the second door on the right. There was nothing in Sunny's room. Not even a note. She felt her face crumple in total defeat. She felt like the glass, shattered and broken and stepped on until it was dust. Her will to live was microscopic. It was her worst fear come to life. Nothing had been right before Sunny, and nothing would be right ever again. Her stinging eyes were pressed shut. She could still pick up the scent of his cologne. It was sharp and musky with a hint of spice. Her heart gave a painful twist in her chest. She never deserved him in the first place. It was as if she had been teased with a ray of hope, and then it was ripped from her without any warning. Her entire life was pain, over and over again. It was better to end it before it got even worse.

The walk to Mitch's house seemed to take an eternity. The colors around her seemed to be duller, the people less interesting, and the movement slow. The sounds were like echoes, as if she were hearing a recording instead of the real thing. She seemed far away from herself. If there was a God, she willed Him to strike her down with lightning. Anything was better than this. Anything was better than feeling so dark and drained inside as if the life were being sucked out of her drop by drop. Inside, she was already dead.

She had to go from the heart of the suburbs to the outskirts. It wasn't the stereotypical "bad side of town," but it had more middle class families than her neighborhood. According to Nathan and Mina, anyone who had less money than they did was trash. There was a schism between races that managed to persist here when elsewhere it was considered outdated. When an African American family moved into the middle-class neighborhood, property values went down drastically. Apparently, the rest of the world agreed with Nathan and Mina. Red tape kept anyone who wasn't white out of her suburb.

Most of the people that Mitch peddled drugs to were white and rich. The inner city African-American drug user who was poor and lived on the street was a complete myth. He knew how to hook a person, no matter what their background was. He could charm a nun out of her habit. In the process, he would peel away the layers of her soul and discover her weaknesses. Little by little, he would slowly push her buttons and make her use over and over again. The manipulation was so subtle that Alex hadn't realized that he did it to her until she was thoroughly addicted.

There was no love between them. Affection, maybe, but not love. Since Sunny had broken up with her, Mitch had become her de facto boyfriend. It was Mitch's decision, and she didn't see anything wrong with it. She still had to pay for her drugs, but now she got a discount. Mitch's house became an easy hideout when she didn't want to go home. It was a relationship of convenience. Not to mention that Mitch had a way of convincing people close to him to do whatever he wanted.

Mitch's house was open to most of the addicts on that side of town, but the rich ones were especially well-treated. He didn't want to lose clientele, and the addicts that could pay for their drugs were much more useful than the ones who couldn't. There was no doubt that he was cunning and street smart, but he possessed a certain charm. His long, brown hair was always well-kept and never greasy, and his eyes were nearly pure amber.

The only facial hair he had was a small inverted triangle beneath his lower lip. He didn't look dirty, like most dealers. It was part of his appeal. He attracted the high class addicts and made more money as a result. And her. She wouldn't deny that she found him attractive; the man could have been a model. It was his quick temper that dampened her affections for him.

He was almost as bad as Nathan. He had a quicksilver way of changing moods. Contentment could turn transient and flash into intense, raging anger. Those amber eyes could be as clear as honey in one moment and almost red in the next. His high cheekbones and beautiful eyes disarmed any suspicion that first-time users may have about his operation. Any poor suckers who failed to pay him would see an entirely different side of him.

Cold raindrops began to fall. They slid down her face and made her hair flatten against her head. By the time she reached her destination, she was soaked to the bone. She didn't feel it. After a quick self-check, she pulled her sweatshirt sleeve down to cover the streaks of dried blood that painted her arm. She felt the pain when she knocked twice on the door, and the throbbing didn't go away until the door opened.

Mitch wore a white button-down shirt and black pants. It was a front for any cop who had heard something about the house being a drug house. Usually, based solely on appearance and demeanor, the officer wouldn't even check the house and apologized for his mistake. He could con the best of them. His hair was neatly tucked behind his ears, and his eyes were vivid gold when he laid eyes on her.

"Alex. Come inside." She could see the tension in his body and knew that he was wound up over something. Maybe he had been sampling his own product again. By the time she stepped inside, the door was shut and there was a hand squeezing her throat. The ache created there was made worse by the fact that it had been abused days before, and Mitch's grip on her trachea was surprisingly strong. His voice was calm after he shoved her into the wall. The impact resonated through her bones. Her eyes were closed as she fought the panic that rose inside her over not being able to breathe. "I heard you talked to the cops yesterday. What did you tell them?"

There was a guy lying on the couch who was completely stoned. He was totally unaware of the situation, and even if he was asked to help, she was sure he wouldn't be able to. Not that she could make a sound. Or breathe. She suffered in silence as his grip tightened, fingers and thumb leaving indelible marks on her skin and underneath it. Her mind couldn't come up with any useful solutions. He didn't even give her a chance to answer before he leaned in close and breathed into her ear to issue an unspoken threat.

Her stomach lurched at the intruding memories of Nathan. His hot breath on her earlobe, his hand choking her, his body pressed against hers. Violation rushed through her like a bad drug and settled between her legs, like she was diseased and she couldn't stand being touched near there ever again. Fuck him. Fuck Mitch. Nathan was dead. Mitch was a no-good, abusive idiot who wanted her for her addiction, and she was more addicted than ever.

The rare burst of logic came right before she was about to pass out. Her eyelids fluttered from dizziness and weakness, and then, just as the walls were closing in on her, she was finally able to breathe again. She gasped in air for a precious second before she felt a stinging slap hit her cheek. Her head was forced back against the wall, and his fingers now gripped her chin in the same forceful manner. Her eyes were half-lidded, mouth was still gasping for air, and she couldn't hear what he was shouting.

She received another smack for her ignorance. He had never been this rough with her before. When she was high, she often lay on him with her head in his lap like a kitten. He tolerated her much more than anyone else. "What. Did. You. Say?" Each word was pronounced carefully, as if she were a toddler. She was still half-stuck in her own mind and saw Mitch's face one second and Nathan's the next. Their features melted together. Another gulp of air and a short bout of coughing went by before she was able to finally answer him.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything." She recognized the signs that he was about to smack her again, so she forced out an explanation. "I was there because of Nathan. They wanted to talk to me about his death." She hated that look. A sort of crooked smile appeared on his face with a light in his eyes. His hand let go of her chin and caressed her cheek in a gentle gesture that was the complete opposite of what it had been seconds earlier. It was as if he had never hit her in the first place, but her burning cheeks and sore throat protested that idea.

"The old man is finally dead?" His hand was turned, and his knuckles brushed softly over the apple of her cheek. She flinched backwards when he neared her eye, but he didn't stop touching her. "Good. Good for you." His accommodation wasn't that simple. It couldn't be. "You're here for your fix, right? What'll it be this time?" His voice had returned to soft and sweet. She hated it, hated him. If only Sunny were here. The reminder made her want to cry again, but she wouldn't. Not in front of Mitch.

"I don't want any drugs." It was probably the only time in her life that she had ever said that. The glint in his eyes turned menacing again, and she felt claustrophobic when he placed an arm on the wall next to her head and leaned on it. She could feel the strength in that lean body, all tensile and wiry. For the first time, it was a threat instead of a reminder of his protection.

"Really?" Unconsciously, he was baring his perfectly straight, white teeth. His snarl reminded her of a hungry wolf's. "What do you want, then?" The question was only slightly hostile. He thought she was wasting his time. She knew the way to the man's heart. There was no way he was going to hit her after this. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash that she had been saving on the side since her last drug buy. It was at least four hundred dollars. His eyes gleamed with the caramel tone that signaled pleasure.

"I want a gun. And bullets." He took the cash from her hand easily. The smirk on his face only widened when he counted it out. There was something about his attitude that she didn't like. The ever-accurate perception of hers was picking up on another brilliant plan to manipulate her. She would do it, because he could convince her to do anything. Especially if it was a means of meeting her own end. Mitch didn't have to know about that part of it. He probably thought that she would kill Mina.

"Friday, I would've said sure. But now, I'm not sure if I can trust you anymore, talking to the cops and all." Her lips pressed together in annoyance. "The money's nice, but I need proof of your loyalty." Last time, proof had gotten her caught. Proof had landed her two days in jail before anyone would bail her out. She hated him. It was the last time, she reasoned. The last time she would ever do anything for Mitch. After this, she could have her gun, and it would be done. She was willing to go through a little more pain to get to the resolution.

"What kind of proof, Mitch?" He was still uncomfortably close. She could smell garlic on his breath. Her words were quiet. In the next room, rap music played and nearly drowned out her words. Whoever was here was having a good time. At least they weren't as miserable as she was. She would give anything to be out in the rain right now, breathing fresh air instead of Mitch's last meal.

"Since your old man kicked off, he won't be needing much of his stuff anymore, will he? It'll be easy. All you have to do is go in there, grab any watches, rings, cuff links, hidden money…Hell, you can bring the Armani suits, too. Do that, and I'll give you a gun." It was a tempting offer. She was used to doing much worse things in order to get her drugs. Taking things from Nathan postmortem would be simple as long as Mina wasn't home. She was probably out shopping for a new husband.

"Fine. Just have it ready." She wanted to leave, but Mitch didn't back off. He wanted to emphasize his point. Her breathing quickened with fear, but she carefully kept her face neutral. She could almost feel Mitch's energy humming through his body, which could either turn into acceptance or denial in the blink of an eye. She had to be careful not to ignite him. He was so close that a piece of his hair tickled her forehead. She wanted to scream out _Don't touch me! _If she did, there was no doubt that it would get worse.

"If I find out that you talked, you'll end up in the Pacific." The threat meant nothing to her. She wanted to die. Whatever he wanted to do to her was not going to do the job unless he did what she was planning. Her eyes carefully traveled upward to meet his intense ones, and she gave a tiny nod. "Glad we understand each other." His tone was flat, but it could've almost been affectionate. She could see him contemplating a kiss, but apparently he decided against it.

He backed away. She could feel his intent gaze on her until she shut the door behind her. Finally. The outside air was fresh and cool, but she felt like she couldn't get enough of it. The rain was pounding now. She barely noticed herself shivering, and she took herself away to bury her mind in memories. Her walk home was mechanical. There were no people outside. It fit her dark, contemplative mood. She heard a clap of thunder in the distance, as if the weather was sending out a warning that came too late.

The first time she met Mitch was in high school. He was the senior who always sat in the back and threw balls of paper at other students while the teacher wasn't looking. She had been a freshman and actually attending school at the time. When she dropped out and got hooked, he was her supplier. When Sunny found out she was high and dumped her, Mitch was there. He was the only one who would answer her calls when Sunny wouldn't. He held her close when Sunny said he couldn't. Now, she finally realized that Mitch could never, ever replace her sweet, protective Sunny.

Mitch was there in the darkness of the pharmacy when they had broken in to steal drugs. She remembered picking the lock to the back door with a professional lock pick. She was the best at it, because she could feel the places where the indentations of a key would fit. When the lock popped open with a loud _click_, there was a sense of exhilaration among the three of them. Mitch had to be there to monitor the operation and make sure that nothing could go wrong. Alex was the only one who was competent at lock-picking. Derek was a newbie addict who wanted to prove his loyalty to Mitch. In the end, he had done exactly that.

They turned on the lights and started grabbing everything that was valuable. Oxycontin, Vicodin, morphine in pill form. For two addicts and a dealer, it was like Christmas. There was the soft rattle of pills moving inside the bottles as they swept them off the shelves into their duffel bags. They were wearing gloves so that they wouldn't leave any fingerprints. They had chosen this pharmacy for its lack of cameras. Mitch had scoped out the place the previous week.

Someone must have noticed something while they were foraging, because they heard a noise from the front ten minutes after they broke in. The door bell chimed. It had been loud and clear and sent chills down her spine. She had been high on something good. Her reaction to the intrusion was as sharp as Mitch's. He was the nearest one to the lights. He flipped the switch off and found a hiding spot behind a shelf stacked with scattered bottles of pills. Alex hid underneath a counter in the back corner, and Derek followed Mitch's lead.

Her heart seemed to be especially audible in the suddenly small space, and she fought to keep her breathing soft and steady. It would do her no good to freak out now, not when it would serve her well to keep calm. Her body shuddered, but she kept as quiet as she possibly could. She could see Mitch from here. His hand was inside the front of his jeans, which might have looked perverse to anyone else, but she knew that he had a gun tucked into his pants. He was considering using it.

Slowly, they watched as a security guard eased his way through the door connecting the area that was open to the public to the pharmacist's office. He wasn't the stereotypical mall cop. No, he had to be fit and on his game. He had sharp eyes. She couldn't see much of his features in the dark, but the outline of his shirt showed that he was muscular. He had a radio on his shoulder. This was going to be so much more trouble than she had expected.

His flashlight scanned the area while his gun pointed at the illuminated spot. First, the shelves that Mitch was hiding behind were scanned. There was a small beep that nearly made her gasp out loud, and then she heard the man speak quietly into his radio. He was calling for back-up. Her heart pounded harder, convinced that they were all going to be caught and put in jail. Maybe Nathan and Mina wouldn't bail her out this time; maybe she would end up serving a long sentence. Sheer anxiety tickled her spine when the flashlight was back up again. It was getting closer and closer to her hiding place.

She closed her eyes when he the light reached the corner. She was next. He would see her, with his low sweeps, and she would be screwed. Then she heard the clatter of a pill bottle from across the room. The sound seemed so loud in the small area, and the cop turned around faster than she could think. The flashlight swerved dramatically to the right. Derek was caught in the cop's light, and he had a gun aimed at him. "Don't move!" The officer's shout was even louder in the darkness. The pill bottle lay on the floor next to Derek's feet. She felt a pang of sympathy as the scared kid threw his hands up in the air.

At the same time, Mitch was motioning to her with his arms frantically. _Out_, he mouthed. _Follow me out! _She quickly realized that Mitch had provided the distraction so that he and Alex could escape unnoticed while the cop was focused on Derek. She kept her body crouched as she snuck across the room, careful not to move too fast. She didn't want the cop to see her from the corner of his eye. The five seconds it took her to cross the room seemed like an eternity, but she reached Mitch. They went out the back door. Mitch was careful to close it as softly as he could. After that, they ran away from the sound of distant sirens.

Derek didn't break. He never spoke a word to the police about Alex or Mitch. She didn't understand it at the time, but Mitch was equivalent to the local mafia. Everyone kept their mouth shut, or else. No one knew what the "or else" would be, but everyone had enough fear of Mitch to keep on his better side. Everyone who knew him knew that the things that went on in his mind could be dark and disturbed, and that mind could dream up terrible things to do to someone who betrayed him and his girl. He had always been possessive of her, despite the fact that they knew they didn't love each other. If he caught a guy alone with her, he would leave the other guy suffering from bruises and multiple cuts. She didn't want to know what he would do to someone who did something worse.

It didn't ever cross her mind that she could be someone better. She wasn't born for that. In her rough life, she had learned not to trust or make friends. Where had friends gotten her now? Sunny left her heart broken, and Mitch was asking for illegal favors. If she had cared anymore, she would have thought about ethics. They had no place in her life. She did what was good for her at the moment. Fuck the consequences. She wouldn't live long enough to see them.

She supposed that her life expectancy had been cut short from the beginning. Her adoptive parents never gave a shit about her. A handful of abusive men didn't help matters. She used to love the adrenaline. She could withstand Nathan's beatings as long as she had the rush of drugs afterward. Sometimes before. When he would beat her for being high, it was the worst because that was the only time that she had the gall to laugh at him. Who was more pathetic: her for laughing through bloody teeth or him for beating her because of his feelings of inadequacy?

She would say that he was winning right now. The bastard may have been in the morgue, but he had been slowly killing her through years of abuse. She felt like she was worth nothing. The end was coming near, and he was the cause of it. Maybe she wouldn't have done it if Sunny was still around, but she held him in too high of a regard to blame him for this. He had been the only good thing in her life, and he was gone for good. There was nothing left to live for, not when the satisfying buzz of adrenaline was no longer enough.

She wouldn't leave a note. That decision had been made a long time ago. There was nothing to say. Mina would hardly be insulted by Alex's last thoughts when she was free of a heavy burden. Mina had never wanted her in the first place. It was entirely Nathan's idea to get funds for his business. The business, which operated as a money launderer in its spare time, had done well before it finally went under for legal issues. How fucked up was it that Nathan was finally dead and she felt no ease of pressure?

Mina would probably paint her death as a tragic story to the community. She was so distraught by Nathan's death that she couldn't bear to live without her foster father. The thought made anger flare up in her chest. Never. If there was any justice in the world, the bitch wouldn't get away with that story. The press might like it. She tried not to think about it. It wasn't as if she would be around to control it.

The only thing that brought her attention away from her morbid thoughts was the black Sedan in the driveway. It was expensive. She couldn't remember the last car Nathan or Mina had bought. They were constantly trading cars in and then buying new ones. The fifteen-car garage was packed. Was Mina home? The thought sent an ominous chill through her body, but she decided to deal with the problem head-on instead of hiding from it.

She was acutely aware of ordinary objects. The cherry-wood door with frosted glass panels on either side caught her interest as she opened it. The sound echoed through the house. It was as if she could sense everything better. _Here it goes_. The thought came from nowhere. It was hostile and anxious, and she wondered if she had been missing her own thoughts. It was entirely possible that she was starting to blank them out when so much of her everyday life was a daydream.

The click of heels came from the kitchen. That was the only warning she got before Mina emerged from the lounge in the back of the house that connected to the living room. Alex shut the door behind her. It wasn't exactly an aggressive act, but she could almost feel the room brimming with the aura of intense anger. The first thing that she noticed on Mina was not her nearly illicit black dress or her bright lipstick, but the two spots of red high on her cheeks. It wasn't petty anger; it was white-hot rage that she was feeling in her gut. It made Alex tense.

"Get your shit and get out." Terse, firm, and commanding. Mina was used to ordering her around, but this was different. This had more impact to it, but at the same time, more emotion. The hands on her diminutive hips gripped so hard that Alex could almost see them shaking. Instinctively, Alex took a step back from the source of the anger. It was a tactic she had picked up with Nathan. If she could get far enough away from him before the fight started, she might be able to outrun him.

She had no doubt that she could take Mina. With her French-manicured nails, Mina probably had never engaged in physical combat in her life. Despite the logistics, something in Alex's mind told her not to pick a fight with the woman. Some unwritten instinct told her that if she tangled with Mina right now, things would end up worse. Instead of throwing the nearby vase at Mina, Alex simply narrowed her eyes. "Where am I supposed to go?"

Her foster mother's chin lifted in a show of superiority. "Your _father_ will take you." She spat the word out like it was something vile. The revelation that Alex was going to be juggled around like a borrowed book didn't sit well with her. Immediately, she was incensed. She would just have to speed up Mitch's request. "I'm leaving for an hour. If you're still here by the time I get back, tell _Daddy_ that I'll spill everything." Alex nearly flinched at the word. She was used to people referring to Nathan as her father, but Daddy was a term with more sentiment. It unsettled her sufficiently enough so that Mina could walk past her undeterred, open the door, and shut it again.

Now it was Alex that was seething. That goddamned woman would not upset her. Despite the repetition of this determined thought, her jaw was still clenched when she went upstairs. She threw her soaked shoes into her room without caring where they landed or what they hit. The second thud resulted in the light chiming of strands of silver escaping their captivity. She looked down to see her small jewelry box on the floor with her few items of jewelry spilling out of it.

Oddly enough, the distraction pacified her as she kneeled on the carpet to collect her jewelry. There was only one necklace that was worth anything in here, and it shone out among the other cheap imitations. She grabbed it carefully by the chain and held it up to the light. The silver cross was sweeping and beautiful, and it was adorned with one jewel in the middle that matched the color of her eyes. The green jewel had attracted her at first sight on her thirteenth birthday when she received it in the mail.

There hadn't been a return address. Nathan and Mina hadn't been home at the time, so she kept it to herself. She would have assumed that it was something that Mina had ordered, but it was specifically addressed to Alexis Lancaster. She had worn it almost every day for two years underneath her clothes, hidden from view. She couldn't remember taking it off. It was probably when her mind was clouded so badly by drugs that she couldn't grasp reality. It held a place in her heart, and it was only fitting that she would wear it when she died.

She opened the clasp, drew the silver chain around her neck, and closed it again. The cool silver was a shock to her warm skin, but the small weight felt right. She tucked it underneath her shirt and sweatshirt so that she wouldn't be accused of stealing from Mina. The rush of familiarity for the treasured necklace was the only positive emotion she had felt all day.

_**Author's Note: **__Late, as usual! Sorry guys, things have been hectic again lately, not to mention a bad case of writer's block. Sorry, sorry, sorry! As always, I encourage you to leave comments and let me know what you think!_


	4. Resurrection

**Ch. 4: Resurrection**

It didn't take Alex long before she abandoned her room for Nathan's office. She only had an hour, and she didn't want to be interrupted. Despite Mina's promise to stay away for an hour, she had the uneasy feeling that Luthor and Garcia weren't far away. The hunch was subconsciously nagging at her. Her ears were hyper-alert for any sounds in the large house, but she heard only the soft _whoosh_ of her own breathing even when she strained to listen. Maybe it was her own paranoia playing tricks on her. It wouldn't be the first time.

The black backpack she had chosen was accented with green. It used to carry books and notebooks back when she actually cared about school. It was empty now. Like her. She couldn't remember ever feeling fulfilled in life or having hopes and dreams. All she could remember was simply _being_, like she was nothing more than an empty sack of flesh whose only aspirations had been related to putting dangerous chemicals into her body.

She once thought of herself as an adrenaline junkie, but she didn't fit nicely into that category, either. Even though fighting with Nathan was intense, it never provided pleasure. The bruises, cuts, aches, and broken bones hurt terribly at first, but then she became numb to it all. Perhaps she was always this way: numb and hollow, without feeling. Maybe she was so deep in the darkness that she couldn't see any light filtering through. There was no light. There was no knight in shining armor. Sunny could have been that person once, the one who saved her, but he was gone now. He had left her. She was going to kill herself, and nobody would care.

It was completely unknown to her what she would find in Nathan's office, but she wanted to have room in the backpack for his stash and then some. Mina would probably demand a strip search before she let her leave the house. Nathan's office had always been a restricted area. Every time she had ever tried to open the door, it had been firmly locked. She had often wondered what he was doing in there that was so important to keep secret. She had always felt like an outsider in this house. Family meant nothing to her.

When she reached the grand, imposing mahogany door, she pulled a metal hair pin from her pocket. It was strong but ribbed from many years of use. How many locks had she picked? She had lost count a long time ago. It was probably her greatest achievement. By society's standards, she was a heathen who wanted to go where she shouldn't, to do things that no good soul would ever do, and to spit in the face of every authority figure who had ever failed her. Killing herself was doing society a favor.

What was her purpose in life? Even she couldn't answer that question. There was no such thing as purpose in her life. There was nothing that drove her or motivated her. If she didn't kill herself, she would be doomed to spend the rest of her life as an addict and probably married to Mitch. A shudder involuntarily twisted her body at the thought. She would definitely die before that happened. A life of imitating normalcy and being used was absolutely distasteful to her.

Her practiced hand slid the pin smoothly into the lock. After a few seconds of experimental twisting and pushing, the lock gave way and the door slid open smoothly. The house was completely quiet except for the light creak of the door's hinges. Her nerves were on their last leg. How long had she actually slept before Sunny left? Her anxiety was the only thing keeping her from fainting. The current in the air felt electric. The essence of what she had been forbidden her entire life was now accessible. Her socks were slippery on the polished hardwood floor as she entered the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

The air was stale with old cigar smoke and over-spiced cologne. There was an undercurrent of something else. Vodka, probably. She had never developed a taste for that shit. Its scent was acrid and made her eyes sting. She wasn't expecting the reaction she would have to this room. Upon being shut into Nathan's sanctuary, her entire body froze and tensed. Her eyes were squeezed shut, like a little girl trying to hide from the boogeyman. The smell alone was overbearing. She didn't want to cause sensory overload by focusing on anything else.

With just a whiff of the room's scent, Nathan's face appeared in the darkness of her mental vision. It was the same one she had seen in the nightmares that tormented her ever since she was a little girl. His facial features were twisted in anger. Nostrils were flared wide and reminded her of cartoon bulls who blew smoke from their noses. His teeth were bared and gritted. They were only slightly yellowed and perfectly square. His lips were thin and drawn back over his teeth in a snarl. Those eyes…As far as she was concerned, they were the eyes of the devil. They burned with fire in her dreams.

It was the face that she had seen many times directly before he hit her. Her overactive imagination had embellished a few minor details, but it struck her heart like a bullet. Unconsciously, her hand rose to the middle of her chest and touched the skin there ever-so-softly. She felt the warmed silver chain of her necklace, the collar of her sweatshirt, and her own clammy flesh with her fingertips. _What's wrong with me?_

Just the familiar mixture of smells sent her reeling. Stark fear made her heart stutter fast in her chest. She was certain that, if she opened her eyes, she would see his face right in front of hers. She almost felt the warmth of his breath on her lips and chin, nearly heard the harsh huff of an exhale before a sadistic, throaty chuckle, and felt his strong fingers closing in on her throat and cutting off her breath. _He isn't dead. He's here. It was all a dream. _Her breath quickened without warning, and then her eyes opened in defiance of their owner's wishes.

The space in front of her was empty. She was all alone. He wasn't here. Her senses had been taken over by the alien power of terror, and the reality that her mind had created seemed so genuine. As soon as more comforting thoughts began to soothe her, she saw the portrait from the corner of her eye. Her head snapped to the left to confirm what her peripheral vision was telling her and stopped dead when her eyes fell on the portrait of Nathan hanging over the fireplace. His expression was almost featureless in its seriousness, but his eyes held a glint. It was a promise of something further. She might have been the only person in the world who knew what it meant.

Before she could comprehend what she was doing, her legs were moving. Her body walked itself to the fireplace. Her left hand closed around a cold handle of iron and drew the weapon from its resting place with the irritating scrape of wrought iron against itself. Her arm drew the fire poker back and slammed the point into Nathan's face. It began as a simple hole in the canvas, but when she was done ripping the fabric, it appeared as if the portrait's face had exploded from inward. There were no remnants of his face left, only the shredded fabric of the canvas. The thought of spontaneous implosion almost made her laugh, but the hiccup of air got stuck under her rib cage and came out as a desperate sob.

She stepped back for a moment and attempted to collect herself. The poker was thrown aside and clattered loudly against the floor. The point of the poker scratched the finished wood. _Good_, she thought as she examined the small white scratch from afar. Was she going insane? That was what it felt like. She felt increasingly unstable, not to mention brittle. Fragile. Like she would break at any moment. When the threat was alive, her guard was never allowed to drop. Now that he was dead, fifteen years of physical and emotional abuse began to take its toll.

With mechanical precision, each drawer of a large wardrobe was opened and examined. She found gold watches and expensive cuff links in the first drawer. They weren't hidden at all. Why would he have to hide them, when all he had to do was lock the door? It was almost too easy to collect his valuables, which included a necklace made entirely from diamonds. It was probably meant to be a surprise for Mina. It wouldn't be going to her now. Mitch would make a lot of money off of it. Her thoughts provided her with his grin, paired with a long, appreciative kiss. Something in her chest jerked with anxiety. Mitch was the next-to-last thing she wanted to think about.

Her focus expanded to include the surface of his desk and the shelves nearby. Anything that looked valuable was taken indiscriminately. The leather executive's chair was avoided. She could still see the imprint of where he would have been sitting. If she sat in it, she would feel infected. It seemed impossible to her that she would feel any more violated than she already did. The neglected chair was rolled aside as she crouched on one side of the desk. The top drawer was locked. This lock was easier to pick than the one on the door, but when she slid it open, the sight of its contents elicited a strong gasp.

Her shaky legs pushed her backwards so that she could stand and move back. Her immediate reaction was to hide from this new realization and to get as far away from it as possible, but she kept herself there despite her trauma. Her hands gripped the cold marble ledge of the picture window behind her, but her eyes kept staring straight at the drawer. She couldn't move them away, no matter how badly she wanted to ignore it. Lying on top of a pile of neatly organized, official-looking papers was a gun. It was smooth, black, modern, and automatic. She had unintentionally found what she was looking for in the wrong place, but that wasn't what had shocked her.

_He could've killed me at any time. _But he wouldn't risk losing his investment. She wondered faintly if Luthor demanded consistent proof that she was alive or if he trusted Nathan enough to take his word for it. If Luthor didn't check up on her, why would Nathan keep her alive? Why wouldn't he just continue to take the money without living with her? _He wanted something to entertain him. Something weak he could control, but not without a fight, _she thought with a horrible shiver.

Despite the fact that Nathan had kept her around, the realization that he owned a gun jarred her. _If I didn't kill him, he would've killed me. _The unbidden thought sent another chill through her body that traveled down to her toes and made them tingle. When did she start accepting the fact that she murdered him? She didn't have a gun or a knife. She hadn't injected him with anything deadly. _I didn't murder anyone! _Her mind loudly protested her own thoughts, but there was some logic in the self-blaming insight that she didn't want to accept.

He had died when she was in a great deal of distress. If she had been in possession of a weapon at that time, she would have killed him without a second thought. She felt uncharacteristically cold at the realization. She knew that she hadn't always been all that emotional, but killing someone? Her hate and her fury would have easily overcome her scattered morals. But she didn't have a weapon. _So I couldn't have done it. He had a heart attack._

Still, it was quite a coincidence that his heart attack had arrived so conveniently. What would have happened if he had stayed alive? Would he have tortured her again or would he have killed her? If it had been her fault, she would have done it a long time ago. Preferably during her first beating. She didn't believe in all that paranormal bullshit, anyways. He died because his heart gave out. Not because she had an emotional meltdown. Even the autopsy report read that he suffered from a fatal heart attack.

Her fingers closed around the cool handle of the gun before she could think about it. The rough texture was in contrast to the smooth button on the inside, just below the trigger guard. She pressed it. Into her other hand slid the clip of the gun from the bottom of the handle. She counted sixteen shiny bullets. Fully loaded. A sick sensation shot through her heart. If he had wanted, Nathan could have killed her with one. Instead, she would use one to kill herself after his death. Shouldn't she have been fixed by now?

She shoved the clip forcefully back into the gun and cocked it. _Just like in the movies. _There was something familiar about the gun, even though she had never handled one in her life. Shouldn't it have been more awkward in her hands? It felt so natural. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. In the middle of a thought, she glanced down at the papers that had been beneath the gun. Her free hand, still streaked with dried blood, lifted the first page of the file while her eyes read the list.

_Tuition and book fees. _In the same row were the date and a dollar amount. The same rang true for the rest of the typed words. _Clothing charges. Jewelry. Movie tickets. Ice skating. Football game. _She couldn't imagine the tuition and book fees being for anyone else but her. But jewelry, ice skating, football? She didn't do any of that. She was practically a goddamned hermit. The only places she went were to her friends' houses. She continued to read through, page by page, the expenses that Nathan had apparently charged Luthor for, which made her appear a spoiled brat. _Credit card fees. Prom dress. _She hadn't even gone to prom. She didn't have a goddamn credit card.

Her right hand forcefully pushed the drawer shut again. The impact echoed in the large room. The anger was painful. Nathan had been receiving more money than he had been using on her. From the looks of it, it was way too much to even count as compensation for taking her in. Luthor probably paid him separately for that, too. _Bastard. _Her blood was boiling. How dare he portray her as a perfectly adjusted teenager? For a moment, she almost felt sympathy for Luthor, but that was taken back almost as soon as it came. He could've come and seen her. Talked to her. She would have told him anything when she was younger.

A sudden sense of urgency cut through her anger. _Alexis. _She could have sworn that it was Luthor speaking out loud to her, but when she surveyed the room, she didn't see anyone. The door couldn't be locked again without the key. Another spike of pressure came, and she knew that he was in the house. She didn't question the feeling. It had been far too intuitive, and she had taken too long already. She sat on the floor in lieu of the chair.

She pressed the muzzle of the gun to the side of her head. It was low, directly above the top of her ear, and she was careful to keep the angle straight so that she didn't miss. She was immediately faced with her own mortality. The feeling of the gun against her head and her finger pressing lightly on the trigger induced terror that was basic to every human. Wasn't she worth anything? Did she want to kill herself with Nathan's gun? It was as if he had killed her himself. She couldn't cope anymore. _It's done. It's finally over. Do it before he comes in here. _She allowed herself to swallow one more time before she squeezed the trigger.

She felt the trigger give past a certain point, (_NO!) _and heard the click before the deafening **BOOM**. There was nothing past that. The body went limp, and the left hand fell. The gun fell with it. There was a tinny clatter on the floor that barely reached her through the heavy haze of nothingness. _What? _A beat passed before she was able to feel blood trickling from her nose and sliding down her parted lips. _How can I feel? _Her eyes, which she hadn't realized were only half-closed, traveled down to the floor, where they saw a single bullet without its casing sitting on the wood as if she had placed it there herself.

Alex was struck dumb at the sight. She barely noticed the clamor above the bullet. Somewhere beneath the shock, she was aware of the door opening with Garcia and Luthor bursting through it. Through a method unknown to her, she could _feel _the deep, striking fear in the pit of Luthor's stomach in the seconds that it took to reach her. Garcia was touching her. _Don't _**touch** _me_, she wanted to say, but her lips wouldn't move. There were words among all the chaos, but she couldn't hear. Her ears were ringing._ Am I dead?_

_Oh, God, I thought she was dead_. The foreign thought felt wrong to her, and she wanted to tell Luthor to get the hell out of her head. She didn't know whether the (_NO!_) had come from her or her biological father. Why would he care? Someone was flipping open a cell phone and speaking into it. Garcia. Luthor didn't have any facial hair. Garcia was close enough that she could see his stubble and the light hairs of his goatee. _Am I dead? _She found herself stuck on that question, one that she should've been able to answer with ease but seemed impossibly difficult to answer now.

How was she seeing this? None of the questions were answered, because her gaze was still focused on the bullet. It should have been tiny and insignificant. It should have been in her brain. She didn't move her hand when the gun kicked. The muzzle had been pressed to the same spot at the same angle. The bullet had fallen from the muzzle of the gun onto the floor after she had shot it. It didn't make sense. Guns never did that. Not even on TV.

_Why am I alive? _Instead of the joyous realization that most people had at surviving a near-death experience, her feelings were of pure, pathetic misery. Maybe this was Hell. Garcia and Luthor mouthing words to each other that she couldn't hear. Blood dripped from her chin while she had no strength to wipe it away. _If this is Hell, where's Nathan? _It was her last thought when darkness finally took her, and she felt a sense of relief that death was doing what it was supposed to at last.

She awoke with the worst headache she had ever felt in her life. The pain was excruciating and made her stomach turn with nausea. Her body's automatic reaction was to use her fingers to massage her temples. Halfway there, she felt something jerk her wrists back down to a standstill. Her eyes shot open at the clatter of steel against hard plastic. Silver handcuffs winked up at her from her wrists. The skin underneath was red and raw already, even though she hadn't pulled hard. Her right arm was bandaged in the places where the glass had cut her, which apparently was in more places than she had realized.

The headache made it hard to see at first, but the scene around her achieved crystal clarity all at once. She was lying in a hospital bed. Her wrists were handcuffed to the plastic guard rails on either side of her body. It significantly decreased any feelings of security she may have had before this. Now she just felt trapped like a wild animal. The paper gown scratched at her sensitive skin and made it itch. Her hair was down. She could see the bottoms of the curls on her chest. It looked slightly greasy, as if it hadn't been washed in a few days. _How long have I been here? _

"You were asleep for seventeen hours." The calm, authoritative voice made her jump. Not that she could jump very far handcuffed to a hospital bed. She hadn't missed out on the fact that his statement seemed like more of an answer than a conversation opener. Her eyes shifted to the corner of the room that had previously been assumed empty. Luthor was sitting there with his hands folded in his lap and his enigmatic gaze locked on her. When her eyes searched the room again, she found no trace of Garcia. Not that Luthor would need security when she was handcuffed.

The shiny bracelets miffed her. It was only because of their presence that she spoke to Luthor. "Why am I handcuffed?" She didn't do anything wrong. Attempting suicide wasn't a crime. If she was going to get thrown in jail again, she would throw a fit. Her energy level was lower than it usually was, but that didn't mean that anger was any less of a motivator. Luthor's head tilted to the side, but the movement was so small that she might have imagined it.

"You tried to shoot yourself." His answer was laden with contempt, as if it should have been obvious. Alex felt her defenses rise in response to his tone. Her teeth gritted behind her lips with hidden indignation. "Not to mention that you did a thousand dollars worth of property damage," he added, counting each abomination on his fingers as if she were two years old, "had a bag full of stolen jewelry, were in possession of a loaded weapon that wasn't registered to you, and are accused of breaking and entering by your foster mother."

She took her eyes from him as soon as he started listing off her criminal acts. They slid to the side, where she watched a monitor keep track of her heart beat and oxygen level. The steady beeping gave her something else to focus on while her temper raged. She wanted to break his nose. She couldn't do it while she was being restrained. It wasn't as if she meant to serve a sentence for her crimes anyways. They were smart to handcuff her, because all she could think about was succeeding in killing herself the next chance they gave her.

The pounding headache only got worse under stress. It was the only thing that reminded her that this was the real world. "The doctor said that you were in shock when we reached you. How are you feeling?" _What a loaded question_. She knew that he meant to ask how she was physically, but there was so much wrong with her emotionally that the physical wounds didn't even matter. Except for this goddamn headache. It made it hard to think straight about what she wanted him to know and what she wanted to keep hidden.

"I have a headache." She fought to keep her language clean for the time being, but it was a hell of a short leash. Every other thought was a curse. There was fire in her eyes when they met his again. A flicker of uncertainty passed through his gaze, but only for a moment. The cuts on her arm burned and stung, but it felt like the wound was a few days old already. When she moved the wrong way, the feeling of her skin stretching away from the scabs was excruciating.

As if he were reading her mind, he motioned toward her arm with another tilt of his head. "How's your arm?" His questions were short and cordial. It was a far cry from his condemnation of her reckless behavior. He had been comfortable then, but now he was venturing out of his comfort zone. Small talk was not this man's strength, especially when it was somewhat personal. Last time they talked, she had been caught off-guard. Now that she was firing on (almost) all cylinders, she had the upper hand.

"It's fine," she lied easily. "You don't have to sit there and act like you care." The biting retort surprised them both, but all of the abuse had embittered her. She didn't have the patience for this man to try and be her father only to discover that he liked being a multi-billionaire bachelor better. He would leave. If Sunny could leave, anyone could. It was better that she didn't get close to him. He looked more uncomfortable than before. Good. Maybe he would leave her alone.

"Genetically speaking, I am your father." His voice dropped to a deeper, softer tone. "It concerns me when my daughter has cuts up and down her arm with the glass still stuck in her skin." She couldn't discern the emotions in his eyes when he looked at her arm. Mournful? Remorseful? "It scares me when there's a gunpowder burn on the side of your head."

_Oh. _Her hand immediately went up to feel the wound, but she only got as far as the handcuffs would let her. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. _He's gonna ask me how the hell I'm sitting here, alive, when there's a gunpowder burn on my head that says I should be dead. _She didn't know. The fear gave her chills. When her voice came out, it sounded monotonous. "I wanted to get it over with, to be done with it. It didn't work." That was explanation enough, wasn't it? One look at him told her that he didn't think so.

She hated the vulnerability she felt. Lying in a hospital bed with a flimsy paper gown covering her made her feel on edge. Luthor pretended to be sympathetic, but inside, he could be just like Nathan. The thought made her want to squirm. There was nowhere to go. She was trapped. "You wanted to be done with what?" His question barely made it into her ears, and her hearing was decidedly fuzzy.

"I want my clothes." Her voice seemed to act of its own accord, shaky and frantic. Her expectation that he would be stubborn and resist her request was shot to hell as soon as he stood up and took a small key from his pocket. It was nearly microscopic, but his hands were steady and graceful when he held it. He was left-handed. If she had any remaining questions about his paternal validity, they all disappeared. Left-handedness was a strong genetic indicator. There wasn't any use denying it anymore.

A moment of awkwardness arrived when he gripped her right wrist to hold it steady. There was nothing wrong with his grasp; his fingers were far gentler than Nathan's. Still, she couldn't control the hard twitch that broke his hold on her. His nearly invisible eyebrows, which were a fair cinnamon in color, shot up into the air. She could see the worry written all over his face for a mere moment before it was back to the default blank expression. "Did I hurt you?" She shook her head from side to side in denial, but it was clear that he didn't believe her.

"I'm just nervous," she blurted out. God, why couldn't she control her mouth? She was used to that happening when she was angry, but this was something else entirely. This time, he was careful to take hold of the metal instead of her skin. There was a light click as he turned the key in the lock, and finally her wrist was free. While he was going to the other side, she took the opportunity to examine her bandaged arm more closely. She looked like a burn victim with the amount of gauze that covered her arm. Her questioning fingertips went to the side of her head as he unlocked the second set of cuffs. She felt a smooth interruption in her skin, slightly raised, and traced the circle all the way around. It barely had any breaks. At least her hair would hide it.

"There are new clothes in that closet," he said as he motioned to the standard, off-white closet that they gave to every patient. "I'll alert the doctor that you're awake so that he can evaluate your condition." The first time she noticed the ring was when he was reaching for the doorknob. It was made of platinum, which meant that the emerald green jewel in the middle stood out even more. It gleamed in the fluorescent light, so bright that it almost appeared that it was glowing. She only saw it for a second while his right hand was resting on the door handle, right before he opened the door, but it was seared in her memory.

The door clicked shut behind him. Her left hand reached for the chain beneath the gown. They hadn't taken her necklace off. She pulled the cross above the gown. It was the exact same kind of platinum with the same colored stone. All this time, she had been carrying the link to her father with her without even knowing it. She grimaced and focused on getting dressed. There was no way she was staying in this gown, whether she was still admitted or discharged.

The new clothes felt expensive. Everything was luxurious, even the dark-washed denim jeans. She didn't need a price tag to know that these were the best quality clothes she had ever worn. Even the t-shirt was Prada. After putting on the black and silver fabric, she pulled the cross out to rest on top of it. The black sneakers were brand-new and fit like a dream. All this new clothing made her feel out of place. She didn't belong in designer clothing. Illogically, she found herself yearning for her old, torn sweatshirt. They had probably thrown it out. It would have been soaked with blood, anyway.

She brushed her hair back into a ponytail. There wasn't anything else she could do with it. She was in need of a long, hot shower. Before she could give any more thought to relaxation, the door opened again. A rather respectable-looking doctor walked in first, followed by her father, and to her dismay, Mr. Garcia. She felt herself grow angry for no reason in particular when she looked at him. His body language read hostile, and when his blue eyes met hers, she could see that he would rather not be here.

The doctor offered his hand, and Alex shook it on instinct. "Hi, Alexis. My name is Dr. Weiss." Beneath his serious demeanor and gold wire-rimmed glasses, she could detect a hint of joviality, like a balloon about to burst. "I was just reading over your chart to see how you were doing, and it appears that you're doing very well. Your white blood cell count is fantastic!" There was breathiness in the last word, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Garcia tensed and brought both hands together in front of him in a defensive stance.

"How soon can she be discharged?" Luthor's voice interrupted the doctor's excitement. The other man cleared his throat and corrected his posture before he spoke again. It was clear that Luthor was impatient to have her out. Alex agreed with the sentiment. She hated hospitals. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been to one. Nathan and Mina hadn't even taken her to one for her broken arm. It was a miracle that the bones had healed properly.

"Judging by the way her arm is healing, I would say she's free to go at any time as long as she gets her stitches removed in a few weeks." While she felt palpable relief, Garcia's jaw tensed with obvious disagreement. She wondered what kind of grudge he was harboring against her. What had she done now? The doctor's attention turned back to her. "Remember to change your bandages daily and keep it clean. After a few days, you shouldn't need the gauze anymore."

"Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your services." Luthor motioned for the clipboard in Dr. Weiss's hands. When Weiss gave it to him, Luthor signed the bottom. She assumed that they were discharge papers. Luthor let out a sigh, possibly one of the first reactions that she could definitely discern as genuine, and Garcia led them out the door. During the uncomfortable silence in the elevator, Luthor began to talk again. "We'll be stopping by the Lancaster house to pack the things that you want to bring with you."

"Where will I be bringing them?" It was the first time that the question had really burned in her mind. Now that she had asked it, she couldn't stand to be ignorant of the answer any longer. The interaction between Luthor and Garcia lasted all of a moment, but it was so intense that she would have to be blind to miss it. Garcia glared at Luthor with a look that clearly said that she wasn't welcome. Luthor intentionally ignored the silent demand. Her father stared ahead with steely assuredness. She had the exact same look when she was being stubborn about something. It was eerie to see so much of herself in him, as if genetics were enough to ensure that she was her father's daughter.

"We're staying at the Radisson until our flight tomorrow. We'll land in Edge City and stay at my penthouse until you feel that you're ready to select a new foster family." His matter-of-fact tone suggested that there was no room for argument. The tone was directed at Garcia rather than her. The elevator chimed at the first floor. She was careful to stay by Luthor in the crowded area. The volume of people in the busy hospital made her anxious. She was rarely around this many people. Luthor held the door for her to step outside. The sunshine was unwelcome. Her eyes closed to a squint as she struggled to see in the sudden brightness. A gentle touch that she recognized as Luthor's guided her by the elbow to the backseat of the Lamborghini.

Her mind struggled to catch up with the implications of her current predicament. In the car, the cool air and tinted windows protected her from the invasive sunlight. Her head throbbed steadily. While she was in the presence of Luthor and Garcia, she couldn't do any harm to herself. Living with her genetic father sounded horrifying. As much as she hated Mina, she hated change more. She would have to choose a new foster family. What family would want her? She rested her head against her knuckles. The prospect of surviving this was nauseating.

She didn't bother asking where Edge City was. It sounded familiar, but she had never been good at geography. The sudden clink of ice cubes in a glass brought her eyes back to the interior of the car. The seats were smooth and oozed luxury. With all of the black, Luthor easily blended in, but his pale skin was stark against the shadows. Even when they weren't focused on her, his eyes were piercing. In one hand, he held a crystalline tumbler with ice in it while the other hand delicately poured amber liquid until it filled three-quarters of the glass.

At first, fear surged up in her that it was whiskey. Her mind soothed her when she realized that the color was off, and the smell wasn't right. She took a deep breath of relief that she didn't have to smell what had been Nathan's essence for so many years again. If she could, she would banish it from her presence for the rest of her short life. The alcohol smelled strong, but it was not an unpleasant scent. The ice cubes delicately hit each other again as he tossed back a drink. She wondered how much it took to get him drunk.

It always took her an excessive amount of alcohol to feel the way she wanted to, but once she did, it was all worth it. It was a careless feeling that she only felt under the influence. She wasn't afraid to feel sensual, to feel comfortable in her surroundings and in her own body, and it was the only time she felt truly happy. Sunny had come close. Those memories were fresh in her mind, like an open wound. At least she would have cigarettes at the house. She was already antsy. Maybe it would relieve her headache a little.

When the car pulled into the driveway, her thoughts came crashing back to reality as her gaze settled on Mina's car. It was decidedly less expensive than Luthor's, she realized with a sense of satisfaction. The positive emotions quickly melted away and were replaced with dread. A confrontation with the woman who had facilitated her abuse for her entire life was inevitable, but she hadn't expected it to come quite so soon. The car door opened again, and there stood Mr. Luthor, offering her a hand.


End file.
